


give it back

by onceuponamoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Discovery, Lap Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Shower Sex, Subdrop, Subspace, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 95,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So there’s this kid that Bucky has first and fifth hours with, and he’s this tiny smudge of a thing, all knobby elbows and gangly limbs, more sharp points than dulled lines.  But he’s got this angel face – honey blond hair and sunshine-in-blue skies colored eyes – and a perpetual disgruntled frown anchoring the corners of his lips.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the sketchpad

**Author's Note:**

> For Megan. (Happy birthday!)
> 
> Written for one of those Tumblr AU posts found [here](http://onceuponamoon.tumblr.com/post/103309448196/eldritch-heiress-shitty-high-school-aus-tho). I chose to kind of go with the "I accidentally took your notebook thinking it was mine and you have really nice handwriting and cute doodles" AU. This is going to be incredibly self-indulgent. Prepare yourselves.
> 
> This is a heavily outlined WIP. Tags are subject to change. Unbeta'd.

So there’s this kid that Bucky has first and fifth hours with, and he’s this tiny smudge of a thing, all knobby elbows and gangly limbs, more sharp points than dulled lines. But he’s got this angel face – honey blond hair and sunshine-in-blue skies colored eyes – and a perpetual disgruntled frown anchoring the corners of his lips.

The kid stumbles in late to AP Calc nearly every morning, out of breath with apologies and pink cheeks. He never gives a reason, just a whispered, “Sorry,” and sits down. Fifth period it’s exactly the same.

Thing is, each morning Bucky passes him by on the drive to school. Through the seasons, the kid’s gait never really changes – his boots scuff the cement and he keeps his chin tucked into his scarf and his hands in his pockets. Hot or cold, humid, rainy or windy, it’s always the same boots, the same scarf (well, maybe it’s more of a neckerchief), the same jacket, the same scowl. Like he’s mad at the world for being as messed up as it is, or maybe mad at himself for not doing anything to fix it. 

Hell, maybe that’s just his face. 

Bucky’s had a few classes with him, here and there, since freshman year and yet he’s never heard the kid’s voice aside from the usual, “Sorry.” There’s gossip about him in the same way that there’s gossip about literally everyone, but generally nobody pays him much attention. He sneaks under most people’s radars; Bucky is one of the few exceptions, trained to watch for that flash of blond or blue and to listen for that ping in the form of boots scuffing the ground. Word is (from Dugan, anyway, so there’s no telling how much truth there is to it) that he lives on the rougher side of town, that he’s scrappy as hell and been suspended so much that the principal got the police involved after the last time.

“You’re starin’ again, Barnes,” Gabe says to him, stealing Bucky’s frapp right out of his hand. It’s all whipped cream by now anyway, so he doesn’t do much more than give Gabe a half-hearted shove in the shoulder. Out of their whole crowd, it’s always Gabe who notices when Bucky’s on the fringes instead of right in it. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

But Gabe’s right. Bucky is staring. It’s the tail end of lunch and they’re hanging out in the commons, waiting for the fifth hour passing period bell to ring so the whole student body can be herded into classrooms, and the kid caught his eye. He isn’t doing anything special; he’s just sitting at a table all on his lonesome, head down, lip caught between his teeth, sketching on a notebook and listening to his iPod. Bucky can count roughly six other kids doing the same damn thing across the tables.

The bell rings and Bucky jumps, rolling his eyes when Gabe smirks. “Oh, shove it up your ass, Jones.”

“Nah, son – that’s more your thing than mine.”

And well…that isn’t exactly untrue. 

Whatever.

Bucky loses sight of the kid anyway. Not like it matters. He’s going to see him in five minutes – or maybe six or seven, considering his chronic tardiness. At sea in the crass lassitude of upperclassmen, Bucky waves Gabe and Morita off and then meanders along with the rest of them to the south halls, down into The Pit where his fifth hour art class resides. He’s always been more comfortable getting places earlier rather than later (which is something that his buddies don’t really get, because otherwise they’d be able to spend at least three out of the five minutes of passing period still shooting the shit they’d been shooting over lunch).

He waves a hello to his art teacher, who ignores him in favor of clicking around on his computer, and takes his favorite seat at the farthest side of the room, back to a corner and eyes on the door. 

It’s a class full of mostly freshman and the few other seniors who still need an art credit, which means that on an average day, if people aren’t playing hooky, each and every seat gets taken. So Bucky sits and plays on his phone – texting Dugan back to tell him that he _should_ ask out Lakshmi Kaul – as the tables fill up. 

The bell rings and Mr. Fraser stands up, cane and all, to start the traditional five minutes of lecture and ten minutes of demo before he sets the lot of them loose to do their worst.

Sure enough, the kid walks in and mutters his, “Sorry,” and casts a look around the room for a vacant chair. 

And, sitting where he is, the adjacent side to Bucky’s corner is available, so the kid dumps his bag beneath the chair and yanks his sketchbook out, eyes darting up to watch Mr. Fraser finish up the black-and-white portrait of Cary Grant. He pulls one up for the students to do of James Dean – to which one of the freshman girls turns to Bucky and half-yells, “ _Oh_ , my _God_. You kind of look like him? Like if he and, like, Paul Newman had a baby?” the way all freshman girls seem to do. 

Then everyone _and their dog_ is turning around in their seats to look at him. That’s like _forty_ pairs of eyes – and Bucky has to focus up on the screen to keep from freaking out, schooling himself with a breath before he turns on the charm and says, “’Cept for how I’m prettier than the both of ‘em,” with a wink. 

Some of the kids laugh and Mr. Fraser tells them to quiet down and get to work.

It’s a breath of fresh air when they do.

Bucky pulls out his own sketchpad and tosses it down on the flimsy table, glancing up between that and the projector screen as he drags his pencil over and over to make the lines, shapes, shadows. It never looks quite right, always just a little off, but Bucky keeps at it because his dad always that that quitters never win and winners never quit – which is such a dumb dad kind of thing to say, even if it’s sort of true. The scritch of pencils on paper is hypnotic in a way, lulling, and it’s amplified by the way the room’s set up and where Bucky’s sitting.

The kid – and Bucky really should figure out the guy’s name – has his feet up on his chair, sketchpad propped on his knees. Just like at lunch, he’s got his head down over it, the asymmetrical flop of his hair getting brushed aside every now and then, biting at his lower lip. Everything about it screams artistic experience, that he’s done this for far longer than any of the other suckers in here, and it makes Bucky wonder how in the hell he’s even in the class. 

Mr. Fraser starts walking around the room halfway through class. The other students have gotten progressively louder, less interested in their assignment and more interested in who’s going to whose party this weekend. 

“Not bad, James,” Mr. Fraser says, squinting down at Bucky’s nearly blank page. He’s only got the vaguest of outlines with one eye and the crest of the brows filled in. “Might try working a little faster, though, next time. Remember, you can always erase.”

Bucky nods and doesn’t admit that he’d actually just been distracted by the kid next to him.

But Mr. Fraser moves on and says, “Great work as always, Steve,” and the kid acknowledges it with a smile and Bucky feels lighter for finally learning the kid’s name.

 _Steve_. 

Just as Mr. Fraser’s about to sit back down at his desk, the fire alarm starts blaring and it makes one of the kids at their table jump hard enough to knock the damn thing over, spilling journals and pencils and scratch paper and paint brushes _everywhere_. They start to right it, but Mr. Fraser’s barking at them to leave it and then for everyone to file out to the commons parking lot.

Outside, he sees Dum Dum, who still needs a bit of a pep talk before his next period class that he shares with the girl he likes and who the hell is Bucky to deny him?

“I’m gonna do it,” Dugan says, pacing the damp grass, “I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna d– oh, who am I kidding?” He grabs Bucky by both shoulders and shakes him. “Have you seen her? She’s – she dated Howard Stark. _Stark_. How am I supposed to – oh, God, what am I doing…”

Bucky, shaking off the rattle in his head and neglecting to mention that _he_ dated Howard Stark too, smacks Dugan upside the head and says, “Hey, buck up, pal. You’ve said she laughs at your jokes, yeah?”

Sinking to the ground and resting his elbows on his knees, Dum Dum looks like a petulant little kid. “Yeah…”

“And she smiles at you and always says hi, even in front of her friends, and – hey, when you were grouped together for that project, what’d she say to you?”

“That I wasn’t a douchebag like the other varsity guys.” Dum Dum looks up. “No offense.”

Laughing, Bucky says, “None taken. I never had a class with her.” He shrugs. “But, hey, really. C’mon, man. She seems to like you alright. And what’s the worst that can happen? So she says, ‘No,’ – would it really be that big of a deal? She ain’t the type to laugh in your face about it.”

Dugan sighs. “Yeah,” he admits, “True…”

“So, sounds to me like you ain’t got much to lose either way. She’d probably even still wanna be your friend afterwards.”

They get the all-clear signal and everyone starts heading back inside. Bucky offers a hand to help Dugan up and he’s giving Bucky a smile, albeit nervous, and saying, “Alright. I’m gonna do it. Thanks, bruh.”

“Anytime, pal.”

The passing period bell rings and Bucky mutters a curse under his breath, weaving through the other kids to get back to art. His sixth hour is in the opposite corner of the south halls, and it’s hard to get there early on any given day – what with getting stopped in the halls or held up by kids walking slower than the zombies in _Shaun of the Dead_. 

When he finally gets back in, Steve is the only one from their table picking up the mess that that freshman made when he knocked the table over and Bucky’s saying, “Here, let me,” and offering a half-smile as he gathers up the brushes. He nabs his sketchpad and shoves it into his bag before he ducks out into the fray again.

Sixth hour is student council, which means all Bucky does is goof off with Falsworth while they’re supposed to be conducting mock interviews with one another – and by seventh, they’re padded up and out on the field running drills and getting yelled at by Coach Hill like usual. Sweaty and exhausted, Bucky hits the showers with the rest of the fellas and then tosses his bag into his backseat before he waves them off and treks home.

It’s not exactly a short drive to the suburbs on the west side, but Bucky doesn’t mind.

Later, after he’s done as much Calc homework as he can force himself to do, Bucky takes a break to check out his Twitter feed and his Snapchat stories – turns out that Dugan’s taking Lakshmi out to the movies tonight; good for him – and ends up on an endless scroll through Vine until his eyes are drooping. Which means he needs to find some other homework to do because he _isn’t_ going to bed at eight PM on a Friday. That’s pathetic as hell.

It’s easy to find that picture of James Dean on Google. Mr. Fraser never gives them more than one class period to work on the portraits – which is why he has an Etta James and a Hedy Lamarr and a Steve McQueen all done in shaded pencil. They’re not any good, not really, but he’s actually trying and Mr. Fraser has said he’s shown some serious improvement over the course of the semester.

Thing is, though, when he opens up his sketchpad it’s not his own drawings he sees.

At first, he’s flipping through to find his James Dean and it’s almost like he’s just glancing because of the familiarity, but when he looks and actually _sees_ , not a damn one of the drawings look like anything he’s even halfway capable of. These are actually good. Hell, they’re _incredible_. Lifelike as hell and way above Bucky’s skills.

Then he’s flipping back to start from the beginning, looking at the sketches one by one.

The first few pages are things from the beginning of the semester, just quick figure sketches and dimension work – but this art is, like, _professional_ grade whereas Bucky’s looked like he’d taken his pencil between his toes and tried that for size. After those, he sees stuff they didn’t do in class – the swoop of birds curling in formation against the entrance to the commons, the Brooklyn Bridge, a portrait of a really delicate-looking woman. 

“Holy cow,” Bucky mutters.

His phone buzzes – and it’s probably just Gabe asking where he is – but Bucky keeps flipping through the sketchpad. He hits a few more that he remembers doing at the beginning of the semester, like the massive pile of random objects and the one where kids would have to stand in the middle of all the tables to be drawn. And it’s – it shouldn’t be surprising, because he’d volunteered and all, but it is. Because Bucky looks down and he sees his face on the page. 

“ _Whoa._ ”

He’s looking off into space, hair tied back in a loose bun and the sleeves of his sweater pushed halfway up his forearms. It seriously looks _exactly_ like him. It’s awesome.

Bucky’s phone buzzes again, more insistently which means it’s a phone call and when he shuts the notebook and picks up, it’s Gabe.

“Ay, bruh. You get my Snapchat?”

“Uh,” Bucky says, because he’d been a little preoccupied. “No, sorry, hang on.” When he scrolls through, he sees a picture of Dernier and Falsworth and Morita in a pile on what’s probably Gabe’s den floor with a caption of, “Where da fuhh is Bucky???” meaning that they’re playing Super Smash Brothers and waiting on him to finish his homework. The laugh is punched out of him more than anything. “Gimme like half an hour and I’ll be there.”

Bucky throws on his boots and shoves a hand through his hair before giving up and tying it back in a bun like usual. When he heads into the kitchen, his ma is sitting at the table working on her laptop and his dad’s at the sink doing dishes.

He swoops in to kiss them both on the cheek and then shrugs into his pea coat by the door.

“Are you fellas headin’ anywhere tonight?” Bucky’s dad asks over the clatter of the dishes.

“Uh, I don’t think so. But I’ll text if we do.” When he looks in the mirror, Bucky sees bags beneath his eyes. He sighs. 

“Have fun,” Ma says, “and be safe!”

Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes, because his parents _care_ and that’s a _good thing_. He just has to keep reminding himself of that. “I will. Bye!”

When Bucky gets to Gabe’s house across town, he can hear the muffled ruckus from outside. He lets himself in and exchanges pleasantries with Gabe’s grandma and mother, ignoring the incessant buzzing of his phone in his pocket. 

It’s not until he’s barging into Gabe’s den that he looks at his phone and sees over a hundred new messages from the whole lot of them. “What the fuck fellas?”

The room erupts in, “Bucky!” as he shoves his way onto his favorite beanbag chair between Gabe and Morita. He gives them a, “Yeah, yeah, hi. What’s with the text bomb?”

In a typical fashion everyone starts answering over everyone else – including Dernier, in French, the bastard – until Bucky’s hushing them with a, “One at a fuckin’ time, Jesus, guys.” But of course that only makes them talk over each other louder while Bucky’s stuck trying to parse the English from the French from the Japanese (because Morita can be a real ass when he wants to fuck with Bucky) until it’s too much and he’s sitting there with his hands over his ears, just waiting it out.

Then Monty’s grabbing his foot and dragging him down – and Bucky’s shouting, laughing, screaming, “No!” – and then Gabe and Dernier are holding him down while Morita shoves his fingers into Bucky’s sides and armpits. It’s _awful_. This is Bucky’s life. These guys are his friends. _These_ are the choices that Bucky has made.

After they’ve all settled, Morita says, “Consider this: we get in the car, we drive to the movie theater, we –”

“We’re not crashing Dum Dum’s date,” Bucky says sternly, “Come on, man. You shoulda seen him this morning. Guy was a wreck.” 

“You’re no _fun_ , Barnes,” Falsworth groans, both him and Morita looking at Bucky with big pleading eyes while Gabe and Dernier carry on a conversation in French.

“ _No._ ”

The resounding, “ _Ugh_ ,” brings Bucky a certain amount of joy. But really, if they’d honestly wanted to do it, they would have before they asked him to come over. They know better than that. Instead, they end up making a couple of Vines to pass the time – one where they all dance in synchronization to Backstreet Boys song mixed with some beat that Gabe and Morita made (that takes approximately _twenty-five fucking tries_ ) and then another three parter where Gabe steals his mom’s wig. Part one shows Bucky asking her how to make Kool-Aid as a distraction technique with Gabe sneaking into her room like he’s the Pink Panther. Part two is him coming into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of Kool-Aid to gauge her reaction. Gabe’s mom smacks Gabe in the forehead with a spatula and refuses to let him have any of the cookies she just made. And three shows the boys all eating cookies, Gabe’s mom looking satisfied with herself, and Gabe with a single tear streaking down his cheek.

Afterwards, Mamé goes to sleep and Gabe’s mom tells them, very pointedly, that she’s going to bed too and she’s got an early shift in the morning. She looks at Bucky and says, “James, I expect you to keep them in line,” and smiles when she hears his, “Yes, ma’am,” in return.

In the middle of _Die Hard 2_ , Falsworth nods off first – and of course Morita’s there drawing a dick on his face while Dernier Snapchats it to all of their contacts. Morita slips on his shoes and leaves with a jaunty salute. Bucky figures he ought to go home and get some rest too.

When he’s hopping into his car, Bucky’s phone vibrates.

It’s an email from Facebook letting him know he has a new friend request from a Steven G. Rogers. It hardly takes any time at all to accept it – and then almost immediately gets a message: 

_I think we swapped notebooks after the fire drill. Mind meeting me up to switch them back?_

Bucky types out, _Oh, yeah, sure. Is tomorrow morning fine?_

He starts his car and before he can even put it in reverse, his phone buzzes with another message:

_No. Now would be preferable._

Sighing, Bucky types out a quick message that details his phone number and the fact that he needs to drive, so he can’t really continue this discussion over Facebook messaging. It’s no time at all before his phone’s ringing with an unknown number lighting up the display. He accepts the call and puts it on speaker, then pulls out onto the street.

“Hello?”

“Uh, is this James?” the voice asks, much deeper than Bucky’d been expecting.

His heart gives a weird thump. “Yeah, it’s, uh…Bucky. But yeah. Steve?”

“Yeah…” There’s a pause of silence, like both of them are waiting for the other to speak first, and then both of them _do_ at the same time and then they’re both stuttering out apologies and Bucky insists that Steve goes first and he’s saying, “So, if you could give it back as soon as possible, that’d be…I don’t just use it for school. I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t look through it.”

Bucky’s silent for a beat too long, which he knows denotes his guilt so he just goes ahead and confesses, “Uh, I already kinda did. But just a little! I only saw to the bit where we did the quick sketches in class – you’re real talented, pal.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “Can I get it back from you?”

“Now?”

“If possible.”

“O- _kaay_ , um.” Bucky tries to place where he’s seen Steve walking before and after school, and it’s never been anywhere near where Bucky lives. He figures that Steve wouldn’t want to come all the way out to Bucky’s anyway. No notebook is that important. “I guess I can drop it off to ya, if you want.”

Steve makes a noise, almost distressed, before he says, voice tight, “That’s not – you don’t have to do that. We can meet somewhere.”

“Alright. It’s past midnight now and a lotta places are closed.”

It takes a while, but they eventually decide on The Diner because it’s one of the only places open 24 hours between their respective homes. So Bucky drops in to grab it off of his desk, tells his parents he’ll be back in a little bit but not to wait up, and heads right on over.

There’s a few people inside that Bucky recognizes while he’s hovering in the front area waiting for Steve to show up. A few underclassmen from the football team say hi and he give them a smile. Two girls from his English class wave and then he spots Natasha Romanov and Peggy Carter – who he hasn’t seen in _ages_ – heading his way. Her lips are painted bright red as usual and her hair’s curled to perfection. She’s gorgeous as ever and, in Bucky’s opinion, tragically uninterested what with her having a girlfriend of two years and all. Natasha’s a lucky lady. Hell – they’re _both_ lucky ladies. Fries Bucky’s brain a bit, to be honest.

“Good evening, James,” she says coolly in her posh little accent, “What brings you here?”

“Hiya, Peggy,” he returns, offering her a smile and an awkward little wave. “Waitin’ for a classmate – Steve Rogers. Do ya know him?”

Peggy looks surprised, mouth quirked in a pleased little smile. “Do I know him?” Peggy laughs, her teeth wide and her brown eyes sparkling. “Of course I know him. He’s my best friend!”

Then it’s Bucky’s turn to be surprised. He’s never exactly seen Steve hang around with…well, _anyone_ , and it’s kind of hard to picture him standing next to Peggy, or maybe Peggy and Natasha both, because _that’s_ too much. Way too much attractiveness all in one place. 

Looking over Bucky’s shoulder and mouth splitting in a grin, Peggy says, “Speak of the devil.”

Steve looks – he looks good. His cheeks are a flushed pink and he’s wearing an oversized sweater, a military style jacket with a load of pockets, his big boots, and jeans with holes in the knees. He’s not wearing the scarf thingy Bucky’s used to seeing and he’s got a beanie covering up most of his hair, the longer asymmetrical end curled to the side near his ear. His eyes are wide and blue behind lenses of some of those thick-rimmed hipster glasses and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat.

“Hi,” Steve pants, grinning up at Peggy (and _yeah_ , Bucky’d been right – that’s too much all at once). “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Well,” Peggy says, “Don’t worry, Steve. I won’t interrupt your date. Enjoy your night boys!”

After a wink, she saunters away back toward her booth and slides smoothly underneath Natasha’s arm. 

“It’s not a…date,” Steve says quietly. Then he’s looking up at Bucky, cheeks even darker, and saying, “Sorry about her. Um, here’s your…” Between long, thin fingers he holds out Bucky’s sketchpad. 

“Oh, right!” Bucky takes his bag off his shoulder and swaps Steve’s for his own, smiling and trying to think of something, _anything_ , to say about the situation.

But then it doesn’t really matter, because Steve’s looking so grateful and blushing again, saying, “Alright, thanks. See ya around,” and turning to leave.

And Bucky’s… “Hey, wait,” he says, “You hungry?”

Steve’s eyes flutter up to Bucky’s face and then down to his boots. “No, I’m – I left my wallet at home and I had dinner, anyway, so.”

Nodding Bucky says, “Alright. Well, didja walk?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers.

“Want a ride home?” Bucky asks. Steve looks more than a little hesitant, though, so Bucky tries to sell it. “Nothin’ against our wonderful city, but it’s awful dangerous this time of night and I don’t want somethin’ to happen to ya if I can help it.”

The slope of Steve’s shoulders softens in contrast to the hard glint of his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

Bucky shrugs. “I ain’t sayin’ ya can’t.”

There’s a beat, but then Steve says, “Fine.”

Unable to help himself, Bucky’s smiling his delight at Steve’s answer. “Great. Alright, cool. Well, I’ve been here about ten minutes and I’ll feel bad if I leave without buyin’ somethin’. Sure you don’t want fries or anything?”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and gives a shrug, biting at his lower lip.

“Suit yourself,” Bucky says with a smirk, “Ain’t nothin’ like their spicy ketchup.”

The smallest of smirks graces Steve’s lips at that and Bucky finds his next breath to be not much more than a stutter of his lungs as he stumbles towards the register to order. All he gets is a large order of fries with lots of ketchup. He gets his fries and turns back to catch Steve’s eyes with a smile. Steve holds the door open for him and Bucky leads the way toward his car.

“So you’ll have to hold these for me, since I gotta drive an’ all. Hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says as he buckles in. He accepts the bag when Bucky forks it over. “Thanks, by the way. For giving me a ride.”

Bucky straps in and says, “You’re gonna regret that when I have you poppin’ a fry in my mouth every thirty seconds.” He shoots Steve a grin beneath the blue glow of his dashboard. “Now, fry me, please.”

The ride passes relatively quickly, Steve dipping the fries in ketchup and popping them into Bucky’s mouth between telling him when to turn and laughing when Bucky gets ketchup on his nose. And then, when Bucky starts mouthing at Steve’s fingers to try to find the next fry, yelling, “Just put it in!” Steve says, “That’s what she said,” and ends up laughing so hard at his own joke that he’s wheezing – only it’s not normal wheezing, it’s _scary_ wheezing, and Bucky’s asking if Steve wants him to pull the car over or drive to a hospital, but Steve’s just waving him off, pulling out an inhaler and taking a couple of puffs like it’s no big deal.

He lets out a trickle of wheezy laughs, swiping at his eyes beneath his glasses.

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky says, heart still pounding too damn hard, “You alright?”

Voice little more than a rasp he answers, “’Stevie,’ huh?” There’s a pause suspended between them where Steve works to slow his breath, one string connecting them together in quiet until Steve plucks it with a quiet, “Turn right here. Last one on the right.” 

Bucky listens, because what else can he do? He steals glances at the side of Steve’s face as he pulls up in front of Steve’s apartment building, idling.

“You know,” Steve says, mouth curling in a tiny smile. “You’re not anything like I was expecting.”

“I could say the same about you,” Bucky retorts.

Quirking a brow, Steve goes, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean…you’ve always been so quiet. People say –” He cuts a glance Steve’s way and – Jesus, Bucky would love to have the opportunity to sit and draw him for hours. The cut of his cheekbones, his jawline, the long slope of his neck – everything about him is so delicate and sharp, tempting. It’s like Bucky’s heart has well and truly jumped up into his throat. “They don’t know a damn thing about nothin’ and then they go makin’ all these assumptions, but you’re not. You walk around with this scowl on your face, but I don’t think it’s ‘cause you’re mean like they say. I think maybe you’ve been kicked too many times and you don’t take shit. I don’t know, you’re actually a real swell guy, Rogers.”

Steve huffs a dry laugh, voice low when he says, “Pretty spot-on after only half a conversation.”

“Sorry, it’s just – I don’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says. 

Again, there’s that delicate beat of silence. 

“You’re right though. Only I feel like I’m one of those people, too,” Steve says, biting at his lower lip. He licks it, releases it, furrowing his brows. “I thought, ‘cause you’re on the football team and on student council and all, that’d you’d be one of those dumb, obnoxious jocks. Well, that comment you made in art today kinda was, but then later you offered to help me pick up and you made time to bring me this –” he holds up his sketchpad, “– and now you’ve driven me home even though it’s out of your way.”

“Look at us,” Bucky says, sly smile splitting his lips, “Pair of fellas subverting expectations.” 

“No kidding,” Steve says with an answering little grin. “You’re smart, too. I’ve seen you raise your hand and explain your answers better than Mr. Foltz when you answer a question. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the back of the room completely clueless as to what’s going on.”

Bucky’s grin is bashful, then teasing. “Yeah, well, maybe if you’d get to class on time, you’d know what we’re doin’.”

Steve quirks a brow. “If I try to walk with everyone else, I get trampled. _Or_ , all the smells – the perfumes and colognes and the B.O. – agitate my asthma and I’m late anyway.”

“Well, shit,” Bucky says, rubbing at his eyebrow, “That makes a lot more sense. I always kinda wondered what you’d get up to that made ya so late.” And then he swallows, feeling Steve’s eyes on his face. He knows he’s starting to blush, cheeks getting hot even though Bucky forgot to turn the heat on during the ride over – and, shit, Steve’s probably freezing after his walk over to meet Bucky – 

“…You’ve been wondering about me?”

In a punch, Bucky’s breath leaves his lungs and he wonders, briefly if this is what Steve felt like only minutes ago. “Yeah,” he admits, “Probably shouldn’t tell you just how much.”

“You’re so far out of my league,” Steve blurts – but then he’s leaning over the center console, cupping Bucky’s face (with cold fingers, just as Bucky’d suspected) and kissing him square on the mouth before Bucky has the chance to counter.

His lips are soft, the top one dry and the bottom one wet where he’d been worrying at it, and even with the albuterol-tang it’s nice. Nicer than any kiss Bucky’s ever received before. Nicer than any kiss has any right to be. Bucky finds his own lips parting just enough for Steve to tease them open the rest of the way with just enough suckling pressure for Bucky’s toes to curl in his shoes. He groans and Steve returns it, ever so softly, a volley of vibration that makes Bucky have to reach up and tug Steve closer by the front of his sweater. 

And boy does Steve ever get the picture. Their mouths are still fused, lips and tongue, but Bucky hears the click of the seatbelt, feels the world shift when they separate and Steve climbs up over the center console and plops his ass right down onto Bucky’s lap. The space between Bucky and the steering wheel is narrow, but Steve’s tiny and somehow they make it work.

Again, Bucky groans. But this time, he’s able to do something – do _more_. He gets one hand up into Steve’s hair, knocking off the beanie so his hair, looking like silvery straw in the moonlight, spills forward to tickle Bucky’s cheek. He gets his other hand around Steve’s thin little waist. 

He knows he tastes of salt and oil, fries and ketchup, but Steve had reluctantly eaten a few too, so he probably doesn’t mind too much. The salt tastes better coming from Steve lips anyway.

The making out is nice and all, but then Steve’s delicate fingers are clenching at Bucky’s shoulders, his lips are moving against Bucky’s and his thighs are squeezing at Bucky’s hips. He moves in Bucky’s lap like he just can’t help it, like he wants to be closer, like he wants more. And who is Bucky to deny that? Because he wants more just as much. Hell, now that he’s got Steve in his lap, Bucky’s going to be hard pressed to ever let him go.

Steve pulls back.

Bucky gets a real nice look at him.

And there’s that angel’s face but a devil’s expression, tempting as sin with the way he’s still squirming in Bucky’s lap but biting at his own lip, watching with heavy eyes at how dumbstruck Bucky must be looking at him. Bucky wants to tell him, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Stevie,” but the words are stuck in his throat. Instead, he looses the silky strands and trades them for a stroke at Steve’s cheek, bringing him in for another round of kisses because the tension’s unbearable.

Bucky’s tongue traces against Steve’s teeth, the roof of his mouth, and Steve seems to really appreciate it if the noise he makes is any indication. He feels the huff of breath from Steve’s nose on his cheek, feels Steve’s fingers clenching tighter, feels Steve rock his hips just so.

Bucky has to pull back, has to pant, “Oh, god,” up at the stars through the sunroof because this is – this is hardly anything but it feels like _everything_. It feels like the rest of Bucky’s life condensed into one little rosy-lipped smirk. His hands are clutching at Steve’s waist where it’s tilting and flexing. There’s no way Steve doesn’t know that he’s riding the line of Bucky’s cock through his pants – because Bucky can feel Steve’s right alongside his. “Oh, god,” he has to say again.

Steve’s kisses move from Bucky’s mouth to his chin, that dimple that everyone used to make fun of right smack dab in the center, to the line of his jaw, to just underneath that. He sucks at Bucky’s pulse point, pants against his neck, rocks his hips so his little ass grinds down hard. “Yeah,” Steve breathes, edging on a whine. “This okay?”

Nearly wheezing, Bucky says, “Uh huh,” and guides Steve just a little bit faster. “You okay?”

Steve’s laugh is – there isn’t anything like it. It’s warm and bright and right there against Bucky’s neck until it’s cut off with the sudden sharp nip that Steve doles to Bucky’s earlobe. “I’m – yeah,” he pants, “Probably gonna come real soon though.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bucky says, wondering vaguely when he’d become the religious type. Heat sings through his veins and colors his skin pink and warm. He has to bury his face against Steve’s hair, still right there even though he’s in Bucky’s lap, like the height difference is just that much. And for some reason, that makes Bucky tense, skittering closer and closer to his own edge at the thought. “Kiss me. Please.”

“Uh huh,” Steve says – and just before he leans in, Bucky sees his eyes glint in the streetlamp almost all pupil and so, _so_ wicked.

The rhythm they’ve got is quick, desperate, and rough like the fabric they’ve got between them. They’re grabbing at each other with their hands, noses smushed up against the other’s cheek, Steve’s glasses a hard line that Bucky doesn’t even mind. It’s almost too hard to kiss, so Bucky just keeps his hands on Steve’s slim hips and holds on while Steve squirms and wriggles and looks Bucky straight in the eye. 

“I just,” Steve says, “You’re so –” He presses his forehead to Bucky’s, making a soft, desperate sound.

And it’s intimate, so intimate that Bucky almost wants to blurt out things that no one should blurt out the first day they have a proper conversation with a fella, but there he is thinking it anyway. Steve’s just so – everything about this is perfect in a vastly imperfect, tremendously teenage way. 

Steve’s breath goes all hitchy and strained, his brows drawn and his mouth slack. When he squeezes his eyes shut, though – that’s when Bucky’s done for, rutting up to pulse hot and sticky in his own pants, clutching hard enough to bruise Steve’s slim hips. And he’s got no clue what type of noise he’s just made, he just knows that it must’ve been low and dirty enough to make Steve’s eyes open up wide. Voice rough, Bucky asks, “You gonna come for me, Stevie?” and Steve nods. His bottom lip is all plushed up from their kisses, and he’s yanking at Bucky’s hair until his neck is craned back, whining because _fuck_ , that’s hot. Steve’s groaning and grinding and squirming and riding the spent length of Bucky’s dick until he’s coming too – whining sharp enough to cut Bucky from the inside out. He shakes through it, huffing sharp breaths intermittently against Bucky’s cheek, Bucky’s hands feeling the clench of his stomach until it eases. 

Right then, in that moment, Bucky knows in his bones he’d give Steve the whole world as long as there’s a smidgen of a chance he’ll get to witness that again. He’d do his best every damn day to earn that privilege. 

Lax, boneless, Steve slumps against Bucky’s chest and hisses out a sigh. Bucky pets over his back beneath the sweater, feeling up the nobs of his spine, the edges of his shoulder blades, the notches of his ribs as they expand and contract. 

The urge to kiss Steve again is too strong to resist, so Bucky does it. He presses one into the sweat-damp skin behind Steve’s ear.

Arms wound around Bucky’s neck, Steve shakes – and for a split second, Bucky’s legitimately, acutely worried – but it turns out he’s only laughing.

“Think we just fit the teenager cliché bill to a T,” Steve comments. Then he swipes his hand over the driver’s side window and the streak left behind is in the shape of his trailing fingers. “Just fogged up the windows from making out in your car _and_ came in our pants.”

Bucky groans, brain still fizzling because his nerves are still sparking what with Steve being in his lap and all. “Nothin’ wrong with that,” he asserts.

Steve, honest-to-god _giggles_. “Yeah. ‘Cept for the cleanup.”

His fingers are nimbly working through the bird’s nest fluffy tumble of Bucky’s hair – and Bucky has no clue where his hairband went – and his heartbeat feels a bit more regular against Bucky’s chest. And there Bucky goes, thinking, _I could get used to this_.

The dashboard of Bucky’s car says it’s just after one AM and Bucky feels Steve’s fingers slow to a stop. 

“I should go,” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s neck. His sigh is warm, leaving Bucky’s skin cool in its wake. “Kinda don’t wanna move forever; kinda wanna change into clean underwear and pass out.”

“Quite the conundrum you’ve got there, Stevie,” Bucky agrees. “My vote’s on the not-moving thing.”

But Steve’s shifting up, looking Bucky over with a faint frown and shuffling off back into the passenger seat to grab his sketchpad. Bucky eyes the damp patch all creased up in Steve’s crotch and feels his belly go hot. 

“Hey,” he says, and Steve looks up at him, “That was okay, right? Like…you – _we’re_ okay?”

As he shoves a hand through his hair, Steve’s face looks dark. “Yeah. I mean, I was the one who initiated it, so…” He’s all angles, sharp and searching. There’s still a touch of that laze, the jelly-knee and water-muscle lassitude that makes Bucky pull Steve back in for more kissing, just to make sure. 

He gives one last, parting nibble to Steve’s lip and lets go when Steve really starts to part this time.

“Thanks for the ride,” Steve says, still sounding properly dazed.

Bucky snorts, waggles his brows, and says, “You, too.”

With a laugh, a wave, and a, “See ya around,” little Steve Rogers shuts the passenger door and makes his way inside the apartment building.


	2. the beanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking it’s Gabe or maybe Morita, Bucky very nearly sends an unenthused, “ _Fuck off_ ,” but then he actually makes his eyes focus and sees that it’s from Steve. He sleepily slurs, “ _Shit_ ,” and very quickly backspaces. 
> 
> The message says: _…Did I leave my beanie in your car?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a bit earlier than I initially intended because I'm cranking these suckers out like nobody's business. 
> 
> Be sure to check the tags for updates! I don't want to spoil things ahead of time, so I'll be updating them with each chapter.

When Bucky finally treks back home, the lights are off and he has to use his key and reset the alarm. He strips his coat and hangs it on its designated peg by the door. Then he quietly clomps to his room, toes off his boots, takes off his jeans and peels off his sticky underwear with a grimace. Leaving them in his bathroom sink to soak, he changes into pajama pants and divebombs onto his bed.

Though his eyelids are heavy, Bucky can’t really get to sleep without clearing out his emails and texts and Snapchats and tweets and _literally everything_ , so he’s up for another half an hour just scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

Bucky must fall asleep like that, phone in hand, because it buzzes a little before noon and startles him awake.

Thinking it’s Gabe or maybe Morita, Bucky very nearly sends an unenthused, “ _Fuck off_ ,” but then he actually makes his eyes focus and sees that it’s from Steve. He sleepily slurs, “ _Shit_ ,” and very quickly backspaces. 

The message says: _…Did I leave my beanie in your car?_

Bucky replies: _Can’t get enough of me, eh Rogers?_ And then, because he doesn’t want Steve to believe he’s an asshole: _Just kidding. I’ll go look in just a couple of minutes. Hang on._

Steve gives him a: _* hanging on *_ which Bucky finds absolutely adorable.

Giving a snort, Bucky tosses down his phone and gives the pillow between his arms one last snuggle before rolling up and out of bed. He detours to the bathroom first to take care of the dirty underwear in his sink, to use the toilet, and brush his teeth, and then he’s shuffling into the kitchen to give his ma a kiss on the cheek.

“You were out late,” she comments, quirking a brow above the thick frames of her reading glasses. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “There was – I, uh. Accidentally took somethin’ of one of my classmates and he was real adamant about gettin’ it back. So I took it over to him and then drove him home ‘cause he’d walked an’ it was late.”

“Uh, huh.”

“ _Honest_ ,” Bucky says. “He mighta left his hat in my car; gotta go check.”

His mother fixes him with that Winona Barnes patented eyebrow and says, “I hope you used protection.”

“ _Ma_ – oh, my – _jeez_ ,” he chokes, heat uncontrollably flaring up to his face with the feeling of being caught out, “It wasn’t – we didn’t –” He gives up explaining because his ma isn’t listening anyway, too busy busting a gut at Bucky’s expense. “I’m just gonna –”

It’s blessedly nippy outside when he unlocks his car and sifts around for Steve’s gray beanie – finding it lodged between the driver’s seat and the seatbelt partition – so it helps cool his face enough for him to be able to face his mother again. She doesn’t even deign to respond when he lifts it with a, “See?” and then trudges on to his room.

Phone in hand, Bucky shrugs into a shirt and jeans, then types out a: _Found it!_

Steve sends back a grateful: _Thank god_. And then a: _…I don’t really wanna make you drive it all the way out here, so if you could give it back on Monday, it’d be much appreciated_.

And that’s fair, Bucky supposes. So he sends back: _I can do that if ya want…or, I could swing by this afternoon and then we could do our Calc homework together?_

The pause is much longer than Bucky anticipates. And that’s got him thinking about how reluctant Steve was to let Bucky drop the notebook off at his place, to let Bucky drop Steve off thereafter. So Bucky sends a follow-up text, just in case Steve’s self-conscious or freaking out: _Or maybe the library if that’d be preferable?_

Almost immediately he gets back a: _Library doesn’t sound so bad. When do you wanna meet up?_

Bucky looks at himself in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door, gauges the bird’s nest on top of his head, the pillow creases on his face, and then sends: _About an hour?_ to which Steve agrees. So, Bucky hightails it to the bathroom for a shower and combs the knots out of his hair and brushes his teeth _again_ just in case. He isn’t going to hold Steve to anything, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. 

When he gets to the library, towing his backpack and Steve’s forgotten hat, there isn’t a sign of Steve anywhere, so Bucky sets up towards the back of the science fiction section.

He’s reading the back of a book, _The Dune Chronicles_ , when he glances up to see Steve approach. He’s wearing a variation of what he wore yesterday – jacket, boots, jeans, flushed cheeks and all. No scarf again. Bucky can’t quite help his smile – and it must be that big, goofy one that makes him look a little bit like a frog – but Steve just gives him that secret grin he has right back. 

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, as Steve sets his bag down onto the table that Bucky’d commandeered. He puts the book back into its proper place and plops down into the seat across from Steve. “You doin’ alright?”

Steve blinks, like he’s surprised or something. “Uh, yeah,” he answers. He runs his fingers through his fringe, swiping it over to the side in an artful little curl. “Are you?”

“Yeah…” Bucky just – he _really_ likes Steve’s hands. They’re incredibly distracting now that Bucky knows what they feel like running through and tugging on his hair. “Oh! I have your…” He bends to nab his beanie from his leather backpack and then forks it over with a smile.

“ _Thanks_ ,” Steve breathes. “My Aunt Liza knitted it for me for my birthday. Think she would’ve killed me if I’d lost it for good.”

“She _made_ that?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah, she’s pretty handy with all that stuff. She taught me how, but I haven’t really moved past potholders and scarves.”

Bucky grins, picturing Steve focusing on a pair of knitting needles the same way he does his art, swiping his hair to the side and biting at his lower lip. Maybe he makes stuff with fun little patterns or a mix of mismatched colors. “That’s real neat, Stevie. I always wished I could do somethin’ like that. Most I can do is sew back on a button.”

Smiling back and shrugging one shoulder, Steve says, “That’s a good skill to have.” He pulls out his Calc textbook stuffed with what must be his notes from class and then pulls a pencil and graphing calculator from his backpack. “Have you gotten started on this yet?”

After clearing his throat, Bucky says, “Uh, yeah. It’s…hard for me to let myself leave the house Friday nights without at least gettin’ some homework done. Plus, during football season I usually had games, so it’s kind of a habit.”

He hears a snort and darts a look up at Steve.

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly, “it’s just – you’re really not what I’d always thought.” 

“’M not a dumb jock,” Bucky says with a shrug.

“Just a kid from Brooklyn,” Steve finishes for him – and Bucky must look surprised, because he goes on to say, “ _Please_ , I’d know that accent anywhere. I’d probably have it too if I hadn’t moved here.” And then, in a looser, more elongated and exaggerated way, he asks, “Did ya finish numba twenty-four yet?”

Bucky laughs. “Oh, that’s good, kid. You’re definitely a natural.” Leaning forward, Bucky slides his paper across the desk so Steve can take a look at it. He watches the way Steve slides his glasses up his nose but still squints down at Bucky’s homework anyway, finding that way more adorable than it has any right to be.

Comparing the papers side-by-side, Bucky sees the neat rows and columns of his own and then the sprawl of Steve’s, complete with nonsensical, abstract doodles in the margins. The actual work is neat, it just seems to take up more space than Bucky’s. Not to mention, it also seems to be completed. “Well,” Steve mutters, “Looks like we’ve gotten all the same answers.”

“Jeez, now you’re gonna tell me that you’re ahead of us in class,” Bucky says. Then he looks up at Steve, who’s looking pretty suspiciously sheepish, and hisses, “You _are_ , ain’tcha? So what was that bit yesterday about not havin’ a clue about what we were doin’ in class?”

Steve, still contrite, says, “It wasn’t a lie. I really don’t have half a clue what’s going on mostly of the time because Foltz faces the board instead of looking at us. It’s kinda hard to read lips that way, so I mostly just read the textbook and take my notes that way.” He ends with a shrug. “One of the drawbacks of being hard-of-hearing. Makes me hate assigned seats most of the time, too.”

“Which ear is it?” Bucky asks, hoping his question isn’t insensitive. “I mean –”

“This one’s the worst –” Steve points to his right ear, and Bucky notices the tiny stud in Steve’s tragus, the two hoops in the middle of his cartilage “I’ve got twenty-five percent hearing in it and about eighty in the other.”

“Oh, I had no idea.” And now Bucky sees it, the way Steve’s eyes flicker to his mouth when he talks, the way he pauses a little bit before he answers because he needs time to process and make connections. But when he’s finished, Steve’s eyes flicker back up to his, still that sunrise-in-blue-skies color that makes Bucky’s heart go fluttery.

Steve shrugs. “Most people don’t. Generally hearing aids are the only clear indication.” Sliding Bucky’s paper back his way, Steve says, “You might want to look at thirteen again. I think you got the x-value right but not the y. Did you use the chain rule?”

The answer is no, he hadn’t. It had been about the time he’d gotten fed up with Calculus and he’d wanted to draw, so he’d just scribbled down what he thought looked to be halfway correct without working out the rest of the problem. But under Steve’s scrutiny, Bucky reworks what he’d done and comes up with an answer that makes a lot more sense. He’s able to plug it right back into the equation and everything. “Is it nine?” he asks, chewing on the end of his pencil.

“Yeah,” Steve says, eyes still on Bucky’s mouth. When he meets Bucky’s gaze, it’s with a little bit of color in his cheeks. “Nine’s right. Good job.”

And then, Bucky’s finding maxima and minima like a pro just to hear those words from Steve’s mouth again, feeling weirdly fulfilled to know that they’ve checked their work against one another’s and plugged it all back in just to be sure they haven’t made any mistakes. By the end of it, Bucky’s chest feels light and full and his cheeks are a little pink and he’s even, embarrassingly enough, half-hard in his pants. And he can’t get up, not like this unless he wants to scandalize the moms herding their toddlers around or the little old ladies pushing the book-laden carts around, and he really is genuinely curious, so he starts in on some questions for Steve.

After closing his book, Bucky leans back, arms folded across his chest. “So, you were born in Brooklyn?”

Steve nods. “Lived there ‘til I was eight. Then Aunt Liza moved me upstate because the doctors said it’d be better for my lungs.”

“Cleaner air, huh?” Bucky nudges Steve’s boot with his own as he leans forward, elbows on the table. He doesn’t apologize and Steve just gives him a nudge back. “Makes sense.”

“When’d you move?” Steve asks.

“I was…twelve? Yeah, ‘cause Becca was turning ten.” Faintly, Bucky feels himself smiling, thinking of his goofy kid sister. “Ma got a promotion an’ Dad wanted a place with a yard. So now we live in the suburbs. Well, minus Bec. She got some big scholarship an’ now she’s studyin’ at some fine arts college.”

Steve’s brows knit together. “She’s two years younger than you and she’s already in college?”

Bucky gives a shrug. “She’s way smarter than me – graduated early an’ everything. Could kick my ass, too.”

Steve looks a little delighted at the new information. “Sounds pretty amazing.”

“Think she’d getta load outta you, too,” Bucky says, tapping his fingers against the side of the table. He lets a slow smile spread across his mouth. “We always liked the same type’a guys. Artsy…real beautiful, kinda punk, kinda hipster. If you ever met her, she’d probably hound you to let her take about a million pictures.”

Eyes cutting down to the tabletop, Steve bites at his bottom lip to quell a smile – but Bucky can see the dimple in his right cheek anyway. He looks back up and then very quietly, not like he’s disregarding the comment but more like he’s just not sure how to respond, Steve says, “I’m an only child.”

“Musta been lonely,” Bucky says quietly.

Giving a shrug, Steve says, “I was too busy drawing all the time, anyway. One of the hazards of being laid up sick all the time. Spent _way_ too much time with my imagination.”

“Speakin’ of,” Bucky starts, “How in the hell are you in Art 1 with the likes of me? From what I saw, you’d be better off teachin’ the class. At least it’d give Mr. Fraser a break.”

At that, Steve’s cheeks go bright red. His eyes flicker from Bucky’s mouth to his eyes to the table and back as he runs a hand through his hair again. “Thanks, uh.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I’ve already completed all of my credits except for English 4. I couldn’t afford to do concurrent enrollment at the university, so they just filled up my schedule with mostly art classes in the afternoon even though I’ve already taken all of them.”

And _wow_. “It’s you, ain’t it?” Bucky asks, unable to quell his chagrined smile, “You’re the one givin’ Howard Stark a run for his money on valedictorian.”

Steve’s eyes dance a bit at that. “Serves him right,” he says, and then he looks back up at Bucky, eyes wide. “I don’t – I mean. Wow, that sounded kinda rude, sorry. It’s just...we used to date and he was always really competitive about school and so was I, and that got…” He makes a face that Bucky can’t quite interpret. “So, we decided we’d be better off as friends. Didn’t kill our competition though.”

“ _Jeez_ , Stevie,” Bucky says, “I’ve been listenin’ to him whine about it for two whole months.”

Laughing, Steve says, “Can’t say I’m sorry about that.”

And then Bucky’s mind flits back to the other thing. “I dated him for a while, too,” he admits. “Well…kinda. It was complicated.”

“Things always are with Howard,” Steve agrees. “We were also dating Peggy at the time.”

At that, Bucky sits back and has to blink, processing the words into meanings into images and _wow_. 

“We all parted friends, but that was how I learned that it’s easier for me to stick to just one person at a time,” Steve’s saying quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed, wrought with shame and other ugly emotions.

“Hey, no,” Bucky says, reaching out to touch Steve’s wrist. “I’m just. That’s –” He lowers his voice, “Seein’ you beside Peggy yesterday was just about enough to send me into fits, but now _this_. You an’ Peggy _and_ Howard. Hell, Steve, I might need a lobotomy after that.” 

Steve looks rightfully amused. Then he shifts his hand around until his fingers are playing at Bucky’s. 

“And, hey, at least I know you have a bit of a type – tall, dark, and pretty as hell,” Bucky says playfully, giving Steve’s fingers a squeeze, “Maybe I have a fighting chance now.”

Without giving an answer, Steve slips his hand from Bucky’s hold and – while Bucky’s fretting about whether that was coming on too strong – then he’s pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket, squinting down at it after he pushes his glasses up. (Which, yes, Bucky still finds endearingly adorable.) His lips move along with the words he’s reading and then he’s typing something out, rapid-fire and gathering up his bag.

“I gotta go,” he’s saying, “but this was fun. I’ll, uh, see you around, Bucky.” He offers a tiny smile and then he’s heading out past the front desk. 

Bucky, admittedly, watches his thin frame until he’s gone. He sighs and, ignoring the flutter in his chest, gathers up his own things.

 

*

 

Later on, Dugan joins the crew for their usual Saturday night pig-out at one of the various restaurants on The Strip – all-you-can-eat Chinese tonight – and then afterwards they all head back to Gabe’s for another night of video games and movies. They start off with Super Smash Bros and then veer off into Mario Kart until Gabe’s mom threatens to cut the electricity if they don’t quiet down and only _then_ do they peruse Netflix for something to watch.

They’re a rowdy bunch, obviously – they didn’t earn the nickname “Howling Commandos” for nothing – but Bucky wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. 

One by one, the fellas start to drop off into sleep and then it’s just Bucky and Dum Dum and Gabe left awake. Morita’s curled into a ball between the couch and the loveseat, using a beanbag chair for a pillow. Falsworth (who’s still sporting a very faint dick on his temple) is passed out halfway underneath the coffee table. And Dernier is starfished on the folded out futon near the bathroom door, snoring like a swarm of angry bees every now and then. 

Gabe, who is always the last one to fall asleep, is leaning against the arm of the couch with his legs up on Bucky’s lap and Dugan’s over on the loveseat, still mostly glued to his phone.

“You doin’ alright, Dum Dum?” Bucky asks. He’d told them about his date with Lakshmi the night before, but he’d been pretty well reserved when the fellas started ragging him for details. 

He gives a sigh, scratching through his scraggly mustache as he looks at his phone screen. “Yeah, bud,” Dugan answers, “I’m good.” Then he gets a really dumb smile on his face and says, “I’m _real_ good.”

“Oh, ho, _ho_ , you’d better share, bruh,” Gabe says, reaching back to yank on Dugan’s ankle.

Locking his phone, Dugan tucks his arm behind his head and looks up at the slope of the den ceiling. “She – I don’t even _know_ , man. It’s like I don’t even want to say anything ‘cause I don’t wanna jinx it. She’s too good for me.”

“You’re damn right she is,” Gabe says at the same time Bucky’s saying, “No way, pal.” He smacks Gabe in the calf and frowns when he snickers.

“It’s great for her that you think that,” Bucky says, “but don’t beat yourself up, Dugan. You’re a catch, too.”

Dugan snorts, almost loud enough to rouse Morita on the floor between them. “You let me know when you find a perfect angel _goddess_ and then tell me if you ever feel worthy, alright, Bucky?”

Immediately, Bucky’s mind flits to Steve. 

He doesn’t quite fit the bill, what with being more along the lines of just a perfect angel without the goddess bit, but Bucky’s…just thinking about the guy has the corners of his mouth curling up like the ends of his hair when he walks straight into the showers after practice. There’s nothing he can do to stop how his heart flutters, so Bucky just closes his eyes and tucks his arms behind his head to stare up at the ceiling like Dugan. 

“Oh, boy,” Gabe says. Bucky can hear his grin. “Out with it. Let’s hear it.”

“Steve Rogers.”

“That the boy you been starin’ at every day since the beginnin’ of the year?” Gabe asks. When Bucky nods, Gabe laughs, rich and dark. “You finally learned his name. Good for you.”

And for some reason, Bucky’s content to let that hang in the air. As much as he wants to share, as much as he’s _bursting_ with the desire to share just how amazing Steve Rogers is if people would just get past the preconceived notions, he doesn’t feel like it’s all his story to tell. So he lets it lie. 

“Steve Rogers…” Dugan says, “I think he’s in my AP English course. Real quiet, always late, keeps his head down mostly.”

Bucky nods.

“Hey! Didn’t I tell you he’d been suspended?” Dugan asks, sitting up just so that Bucky can see him furrow his brows. “What are you doing moonin’ over a delinquent?”

Shrugging, and for lack of wanting to share anything additional, Bucky says, “Have you _seen_ him?” 

And maybe the suspension thing is something to ask Steve about. It doesn’t really add up with the whole top-of-the-class thing he’s got going on. What would there ever be for Steve Rogers to get suspended?

“He _is_ a pretty-boy,” Gabe says, “I’ll give him that.”

Dugan, on the other hand, warns, “Just be careful, Barnes. Don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“Same to you, Dum Dum,” Gabe says. He pokes his toe into Bucky’s thigh. “Now both of you try not to forget about the friends y’got, alright? I don’t wanna see nothin’ but the crown’a ya heads ‘cause ya can’t put the phone down for more than two seconds.” 

Laughing, Bucky slumps deeper into the couch cushion and says, “You got it, Gabey-baby.” 

 

*

 

In the morning, Bucky’s internal alarm has him up in time to share wisdom with the Jones ladies over a cup of coffee in the sunlit kitchen before they hit the road for Sunday morning church service. 

Mamé’s always got some interesting tidbit to impart in thickly accented English. Bucky’s always regretted taking computer classes instead of French, always a little bit at a loss when faced with the sweet older woman. She’d been a primary school teacher in the 60’s, raised six kids of her own, and moved to the United States with her youngest daughter a mere eighteen years ago. It always sucks when Gabe’s gone to Cameroon during the summer, but Bucky figures that Mamé and Gabe’s mother more than deserve to see the rest of their family. Plus, it’s pretty neat when Gabe actually _has_ an accent upon return.

After coffee, Bucky finishes up the pancakes that Gabe’s mother had started – and it’s easy; just pouring the batter into the pan and flipping them over. One-by-one the guys file in, sleepy but awake enough for food.

“Barnes, you’d better quit comin’ over,” Gabe says, swatting at Bucky’s bun on the way to plate up. “Think Mama’s gonna petition the courts for custody from your parents. And Mamé’s old, but I think she’d be ready for a smackdown.”

“Yeah,” Falsworth adds, “You make the rest of us look like proper shit.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Dernier agrees, “ _Nous sommes des ordures_.” 

Morita points at Dernier with his fork, “What he said.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky rinses out all of their dishes and shoves everything into the dishwasher.

The thing is, Gabe was Bucky’s first friend here after he’d moved from Brooklyn. Gabe’s family had moved from Harlem and being from the boroughs is what brought him and Bucky together beneath Dum Dum’s watchful eye. After that they’d gathered up Morita from Fresno and Falsworth from across the pond in England. The newest addition, Dernier, had flocked easily to Gabe’s side, grateful to have at least one person here with a comprehension of the French language. Football was a common language between all six of them, though, and it’s part of why they’re still so close even after all these years.

That, and the fact that once Bucky makes a friend, he’s hard pressed to ever let them go.

It’s why he’s still friendly with Howard (even though he’d turned out to be just about the complete opposite of Bucky’s type) and Peggy and Nat (even though he only very rarely sees them, what with them being concurrently enrolled into the nearby university). 

And maybe that’s what has Bucky texting Steve at just past ten in the morning. He takes a selfie that also contains the rest of the kitchen – Gabe drinking straight from the orange juice carton by the open fridge, Dernier with a fork halfway to his mouth, Falsworth looking at the camera from over the rim of his mug of tea, Dum Dum with a mouth full of pancakes, and Morita slumped half on his plate. Beneath it, he attaches a caption: Good morning!

“Who’re sending that to?” Dugan asks.

He quickly sends the exact same message to Natasha, just so he doesn’t have to lie. When he answers her name, Gabe raises an eyebrow and gives him an, “Uh huh. Before noon on a Sunday? If you ain’t lyin’, she’s gonna have you by the balls tomorrow, son.”

And…yeah, Bucky didn’t think about that. 

Morita snorts, quoting, “’Dead man walkin’.’”

Shrugging, Bucky tucks his phone into the pouch of his hoodie and secretly prays that he didn’t just wake Natasha. (Because he truly values his testicles where they are, thank you.) The rest of the guys slowly finish their pancakes in relative quiet while everyone gets their social media fill – elbowing whoever’s closest to show them a funny Vine or to comment on some celebrity’s body or to talk about something that someone said on Facebook. Not too long afterwards, Gabe starts in on his homework in a subtle cue for them all to hit the road.

When Bucky makes it home, his parents are watching some shitty _Lifetime_ movie on the couch in the living room. 

“Bucky!” his father calls just as Bucky’s about to hit the stairs.

“Yeah?” he shouts back, foot hesitating on the bottom step.

“Come here!”

Without truly heaving a sigh, Bucky turns on his heel. His dad is tucked beneath his ma’s arm, her fingers carding through his hair. They both look up when he smacks his elbow on the doorframe. Bucky rubs at it and repeats, “Yeah?”

Bucky’s dad is smiling and shaking his head. “Your sister called earlier,” he says, “She ain’t gonna make it home for Thanksgiving, but she said the semester’s over – what day did she say, honey?”

“The twelfth,” Ma fills in.

The disappointment isn’t too thick in Bucky’s throat, but it’s still there, so he just nods. It’s dumb, but he _really_ misses his sister. And it’s obvious that his ma can tell, if the look she shoots him is any indication. “Okay,” Bucky says after clearing his throat, “I’ll give her a call in a little bit.”

Ma smiles at Bucky, eyes crinkling up at the corners the way Bucky’s are bound to in ten or so years. “Good,” she says, “Becca really misses you, you know.”

“D’ya wanna watch this with us, kiddo?” his dad asks.

Bucky shifts from foot to foot. “Nah,” he says, tucking a stray hair back into his bun, “I’ve still got some homework to finish up.” He laughs when his dad gives him one of those _suit yourself_ looks and cuddles in closer to Ma. 

Back in his room, Bucky finally braves looking at his phone – and Natasha still hasn’t responded, even though it’s nearly half-past noon, so that means he might actually get to keep his balls. There’s nothing from Steve either and Bucky tries his best not to let the slight sting of disappointment get to him. Steve could still be sleeping, or maybe he’s in church, or working. Bucky doesn’t actually know what the kid does with his life aside from scowling at the world and drawing pretty pictures in that notebook of his. Which only tosses fuel into the fire of Bucky’s curiosity, his fascination with Steve.

And thinking back about Friday night…well, Bucky had definitely _enjoyed_ it, to say the least. It’d been good. It’d made him _feel_ good. Really good. But it was also only just enough to make want more – to see if Steve would make all the same sounds if Bucky’d actually gotten his hands at some skin or if he’d be _louder_ , more demanding. Bucky wants to know if Steve’d still squirm in his lap like he couldn’t help himself or if it’d be a little more like he wants _Bucky_ to not be able to help himself. There’d been an air of confidence that Bucky hadn’t expected; it makes him wonder if Steve would let Bucky get away with as much as he had that night or if he’d maybe hold him down by his wrists, cuffing him with those long, artistic fingers, keeping Bucky all desperate and still and _wanting_ with a teasing glint in his eye. 

Something about that thought, that relinquishing of control to tiny little Stevie Rogers, has Bucky sucking in a sharp breath and closing his eyes – because _wow_ , that kind of thing never crossed his mind with Howard.

But the thing is, it hadn’t been _just_ Steve grinding in his lap Friday night that cooked Bucky’s goose as far as Steve is concerned. It had been the way he’d declined the ride in the first place because he was confident in his ability to take care of himself, it’d been the near asthma attack from laughing too hard on the way over, Saturday at the library, and an accumulation of literally every single time Bucky noticed him walking to school, sketching in the commons, reading his textbook in Calc. Bucky’s been a goner for a long while. It’s only now that he might actually be able to act on it.

God, and _now_ look at him. He’d gone and texted the guy like a clingy weirdo after only seeing him the day before.

“Stupid,” Bucky mutters to himself.

Self-discipline is best in the form of homework, so for a punishment (and because he doesn’t actually have a choice if he wants to pass) Bucky whittles out a paper for English, does twenty damn problems for AP Chem, and checks over the Calc he’d finished with Steve on the day before.

Then he sets to that sketch of James Dean he’d never finished. He’s about halfway finished with the second eye when his phone buzzes.

“Hello?” he answers, not really paying attention to what’s on the screen.

“Heya, fuckhead.”

Laughing, Bucky says, “Becca! Ma said you’d called.” He sets in on shading in the shadow of an eye socket.

“Yeah, and you didn’t call me back. Dick.”

“Sorry…I was gettin’ some homework done.”

“Yeah? Well, hey, time to take a break. I want you to take a look at what I’m thinkin’ ‘bout turnin’ in for the end of the semester. Because, lemme tell ya, I’m nervous as hell.” 

Bucky drops his sketchpad and pencil in favor of opening up his laptop. “Whatever. You of all people never need to be nervous for nothin’. Did you email it?”

“Yeah,” Becca answers. “Oh, god, I’m gonna hang up, I don’t wanna hear –”

“Shut it,” Bucky chides as he finally gets connect to the wifi, “Ain’t no need for all that.” He pulls up the email entitled, “LOOK AT THIS SHIT,” and downloads the attachment. 

The first picture he sees is _amazing_. As many times as Becca had tried to teach him, he still doesn’t know the terminology – all Bucky knows is that the way the thing is put together, centered and focused is incredible. It’s a wet sidewalk, headlights reflected of the pavement. There are bare feet speckled with grit and a pair of pristine high heels turned toward one another, water from a car spraying over a damp drainage ditch near them, and in the distance is a dog being walked on a leash, tongue lolled out but its eyes focused on the direction of the two lovers.

The next one is simpler, not half as busy. It’s a large tree, maybe an oak or something, and the most focused part is on the carved heart in the middle, initials plus initials equals forever. Something about the coloring of the whole thing looks a little otherworldly, though, but the textures all look real, _touchable_ like Bucky could reach in a feel the roughness of the bark where it’s splintered and chipped away. Yet it’s still soft and almost intimate, like the other one. 

Picture after picture, Bucky sees contrasts between those moments that are supposed to be picture perfect and what Becca has actually captured. Perfection in imperfection. It’s pretty neat.

“See?! You’re not sayin’ anything!”

“Oh, can it, Bec,” Bucky says, “These are incredible! Tell me about ‘em. I wanna know what you were thinkin’.”

And sure enough, she starts in on some big overarching concept about the fragility of love and how people need to learn how to live in the moment, live with their mistakes and accept them for the experiences that they are, but to move on and grow from them. Bec talks and talks and Bucky listens, asks questions until she has said just about everything there is to say about the whole project.

“Sounds like you know what you’re talkin’ about, kid,” Bucky says around a smirk. She might be smarter than him academically, but he’s still her big brother and he knows what she needs most often is just a confidence boost.

“Goddamn it, Bucky,” she mutters, and then bursts into peals of laughter. “Fine. Alright. You’re right. I _am_ brilliant.”

Bucky laughs. “Told ya.” 

He can practically hear Becca roll her eyes before she says, “Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m gonna be swamped with finals for the next few weeks so if you don’t hear from me by the middle of December, send a search party.”

“You got it. Love you, sis.”

After they hang up, Bucky cracks down on his sketch, only taking a break when Ma calls him for dinner, and finishes it just in time to catch _The Walking Dead_. Gabe always tends to livetweet the experience, so Bucky keeps refreshing his Twitter feed to watch him and Morita enthuse and complain, offering up his own two cents every now and then. Bucky’s favorite thing, though, is whenever he makes a relatively innocuous comment and tags them both in it, it practically always turns into some big thing while Bucky’s content to just sit back and watch an argument unfold. 

Once it’s wrapped up, Bucky opts to veg out by getting in a couple of mindless hours of social media. Catching himself nodding off, he double checks his alarms for the morning and only then does he deem it safe enough for sleep.

In the morning, Bucky zombies his way through his morning routine – shower, teeth, clothes, food, triple checking to make sure he has all of the homework he completed in his backpack – and makes the drive to school. 

And he must be too early because he doesn’t see Steve making his usual trudge. 

It makes Bucky way too aware of his heartbeat, mind flitting through all of these scenarios – Steve having an asthma attack and being without his inhaler, Steve getting kidnapped, Steve getting mugged, Steve getting _murdered_ – and then he’s short of breath, saying, “No, no, no.” It’s a little better imagining himself turning around, making the drive to Steve’s apartment to offer him a ride, and even _that_ sends Bucky’s heart into palpitations. “Ugh, fuck. _Fuck._ Chill, Barnes,” he says to himself. After a few deep breaths, his vision stops crackling around the edges and he stops squeezing the steering wheel so tightly. 

Bucky makes a pit stop at Starbucks to get a hazelnut chai, even though caffeine is pretty much the last thing his heart needs at the moment, and then pulls into the school’s parking lot. He holds off on sipping his drink until he’s sure he won’t burn his tongue (because he’s made that mistake one too many times) and sits back to wait for the lot to fill up. 

Once the zero hour bell rings and overtime starts, Bucky gathers up his bag and his drink and heads inside to sit in his Calc classroom. 

While he’s waiting for class to start, and half-listening to some students asking Mr. Foltz for help on the homework, Bucky answers a few texts from his buddies and catches up on some celebrity Tweets. 

Class has already started by the time Steve comes in, pink-cheeked and whispering, “Sorry.”

Bucky’s heart stutters at the sight and it feels like he takes his first full breath of the day.

It’s easier for Bucky to focus on the problems Mr. Foltz is reviewing before he collects the homework now that he knows nothing terrible happened to Steve on his way to school. He hates having such an overactive imagination.

As they grade the homework, Bucky glances over at Steve. He’s, very studiously, looking down at his paper and up at Mr. Foltz, completely impervious to Bucky’s stare. 

And…maybe it’s too much to hope for, maybe Bucky’s heart is too big and he’s clinging too tight and scaring the kid away. It had all been about Steve getting back the things Bucky’d accidentally taken and here Bucky is making a big something out of a little nothing. Hell, maybe Steve would be happier if they just went right back to how things had been Thursday instead of Friday. It makes Bucky’s chest hurt to think about it, but maybe he’s creeping Steve out.

Shifting uncomfortably, Bucky keeps his head down and passes his paper up the row for Mr. Foltz to collect. He takes notes like usual. He starts in on his homework assignment. The bell rings for the end of class and Bucky’s gathering up his things, standing, glancing at Steve and –

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says.

Stutter stepping, Bucky diverts his path from the door to stand between the rows, beside Steve’s desk. “Hiya, Steve,” he says quietly, “Uh, how ya doin’?”

“Alright,” Steve answers with a half-shrug. “I was meaning to ask you…I got a text from you the other morning – was that actually meant for me?”

Ducking his head, Bucky says, “Yeah. I, uh…I get it, if you want me to back off. I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m bad at readin’ people and I just –”

Steve laughs, deep but airy and light.

Bucky’s heart pounds in his ears. He swallows.

Mouth still curled with delight, Steve swipes his fringe to the side and says, “Uh. Actually, I thought you meant to send it to someone else. Like maybe you’d clicked my name accidentally. Hey, I don’t want to make you late, or anything, so, um, I guess I’ll see you in art.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, looking around to see the room starting to fill with Mr. Foltz’s second hour class. “Shit, right. Um, see ya fifth hour.”

He rushes out of the classroom and three halls over toward the science rooms and into his AP Chem class. Morita’s already inside, saying, “Never thought I’d see the day where I actually beat Bucky ‘Punctual’ Barnes to class.” He tugs a sheet of paper out of his notebook, scribbles a note that says: _On this day, the 17th of November in the year 2014, Bucky Barnes arrived to AP Chemistry class in Room N403 after Jim Morita_. “Sign here, please.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky indulges his friend. “This’ll never hold up in a court of law. You didn’t use our full names.”

“No way,” Morita says, “You signed it. This is official.”

The bell rings not too long after and Bucky is kind of annoyed by how distracted he is by his thoughts of Steve. He’s supposed to be learning how to deal with net ionic equations and solubility rules, but there he is picturing Steve’s expression, the amusement in his eyes, the rasp of his laugh, the _feel_ of his mouth, his hips in Bucky’s hands, his fingers in Bucky’s hair and wondering if he’s ever going to get any of that again. 

And _Jesus_ , is that counterproductive. 

More than once Morita’s nudging Bucky in the side with his pen or quirking a brow at him, mouthing, “You okay?” And all Bucky can do is nod his head and pretend that he’s not blushing, not caught out, not distracted. 

Third hour it’s much of the same, only it’s alright that Bucky’s mostly distracted. He’s already typed out a detailed list of his ideas for his group’s project and they’re still busy comparing and contrasting their own with his. They’re miles ahead of the other groups, so Ms. Harvey leaves them be for the most part. Bucky gives input when they ask, but he spends most of the class period absorbed in his head.

Bucky rushes to Gabe’s car parked in the commons, calling shotgun before Dum Dum as they wait for the rest of the crew to gather up so they can get off-campus to grab some grub. They decide on sandwiches for something light since it’s a distance day in football and Gabe gets them there and back in a matter of twenty minutes. They spend the rest of lunch hanging around the commons, catching up on whatever’s happened in the matter of three hours, laughing and joking and shoving each other around.

Only, Bucky spots Steve and Gabe notices. “Just go talk to the kid, Barnes,” he says, tugging at Bucky’s arm and shoving him in that direction. “He ain’t gonna bite.”

“No, I know, I _know_ ,” Bucky’s saying, jostling at Gabe to try to gain control back. But there’s a reason Gabe’s the best tight end the school’s team has ever seen, why he’s got a full ride scholarship to play for Syracuse. He can block like no one’s business. “Gabe, _stop_.”

“Hey. _Hey_ , chill, bruh. I’ll even go over there with you if that’s what it takes.”

“No, Gabe,” Bucky says, “Jesus.” Sighing, Bucky goes lax and finally wriggles himself free from Gabe’s hold. 

Steve’s got his headphones in like usual and his head ducked over his sketchpad, but Bucky can make out the line between his brows and the pucker of his lips as he approaches. For a brief handful of seconds Bucky second guesses himself, debating on whether he should tap Steve on the shoulder to get his attention, or maybe just sit across from him and nudge his boot beneath the table, or maybe just _turn tail and head back to the safety of his buddies_. He wonders if Steve knows he has this effect on Bucky, that he’s genuinely _intimidated_ by the guy. It’d probably make him happy.

Bucky opts to sit down at the table across from Steve, scraping the chair extra loud and making sure to jostle the table just a tiny bit when he sets his backpack down so that it’ll make Steve look up.

And he does, scowling until recognition crosses his delicate features. Steve yanks out his left earphone. 

“You messed me up,” Steve says. 

“Hi, to you, too, Stevie,” Bucky retorts, crossing his arms over his chest as he sits back in the flimsy plastic chair. “And sorry, but it was either that or take a bigger risk by touchin’ your shoulder or somethin’.” 

“I s’pose that’s fair,” Steve acquiesces, flipping the cover of his sketchpad to hide his drawing. He tucks the pencil he’d been using between his ear and the arm of his glasses and then puts the sketchpad down onto the table in front of himself, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “Sure you wanna be seen over here?”

Quirking his head, Bucky asks, “Whaddya mean by that?”

Steve gestures to the general area around them, letting it melt into a shrug. “Aren’t you gonna wreck your reputation socializing with a – what is it this year – ‘delinquent loner’ like me?” 

Unable to help himself, Bucky rolls his eyes. “You really think I care about what people think of me?”

“You’re on student council and you’ve been a starting varsity football player since freshman year. All signs point to ‘yes.’”

A smirk slides onto Bucky’s mouth. He leans forward, bracing his elbows against the table. He lands in something sticky. “So, you _have_ been keepin’ tabs on me.” He watches Steve’s face, delights in the dusting of pink that rises to the crest of his cheekbones, across his nose, down his throat. Bucky bets he’s a full-body blusher and, _boy_ , does he mean to find that out.

Shrugging again, Steve says, “Maybe a little bit.” 

“So,” Bucky says, “Okay – you don’t have to answer this, but I am genuinely curious. Why do people call you that? A delinquent, I mean.”

Steve snorts. “Because they don’t know a damn thing about me.” He eyes Bucky and runs his fingers through his fringe, tugging it to the side. “I was gone for a month last year and then two weeks pretty soon after the beginning of this year. Last year, when I got back, there was this rumor about how I’d pulled a knife on a guy in the parking lot or something – which is _not_ what happened, by the way.” Steve grasp the pencil from his ear and fiddles with it, thin hands flexing. “Well, I didn’t actually pull it or anything, ‘cause it was at home. But, well – you get bullied enough, you get punched and you get back up for some more, eventually that person’s gonna either give up or get meaner. Anyway, the reason I was gone? I had pneumonia the first time and then I got a respiratory infection earlier this year.”

Bucky whistles, low and impressed. Kid’s a fighter _and_ resilient as hell. It basically confirms everything Bucky’d said to him Friday night – how he’d gauged Steve pretty damn well. “Who was it?”

“Why’s it matter? He graduated. Moved off to some college down the coast.”

Something at that doesn’t sit well with Bucky, and he knows he’s sitting there frowning at Steve, but he can’t really help it. His first reaction – though he’s never physically harmed another person outside of football and that one time in fifth grade when he’d accidentally broken a kid’s nose with a basketball – is to hunt the fucker down to tell him to pick on someone his own size. Because there’s no way on God’s green earth that he, whoever he may be, is anywhere near as tiny as Steve.

“Unclench, Barnes,” Steve says, nudging his boot into Bucky’s beneath the table. “It’s old news. Besides, like I told you the other night, I can take care of myself.”

Bucky nudges back.

Steve smiles – that slow, beautiful little half-grin that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

Just as he’s opening his mouth to ask another question, the bell rings and Bucky jolts, unsure as to how the entire remainder of lunch has passed. He looks over toward the hall near the south halls, sees Morita and Gabe waiting for him by one of the pillars. The scrape of chairs is deafening and Bucky makes sure that he’s facing Steve when he asks over the din, “D’ya wanna walk together?”

Steve glances toward Bucky’s friends and then looks back at Bucky, shaking his head. “Nah, that’s alright,” he answers. “You go ahead and catch up with your friends.”

At the permission, Bucky shoulders his bag and weaves his way through the drove to his pals. The look Gabe shoots him is smug enough for Bucky to roll his eyes and give him a shove. Morita, on the other hand, keeps craning his neck to look back at Steve. Bucky ignores their harmless teasing and ducks into his art class with a wave.

He sits, practically vibrating with anticipation as the room fills up. Someone tries to take the corner seat and Bucky says, “Sorry, that one’s taken,” and then sets his backpack in the chair to preserve Steve’s spot adjacent to his own. Bucky hopes it’s not too presumptuous, but Steve doesn’t seem to hate their conversations, scant as they have been.

Sure enough, as soon as the bell rings and Mr. Fraser starts in on a new portrait for them to try out, Steve finally meanders in. Bucky’s heart jolts at the sight. He makes a beeline towards Bucky and, holding his breath, Bucky tugs his backpack out of the chair and to the floor. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Thanks.”

Bucky smiles. If he tries to say anything, he’s afraid his voice will stick to the inside of his throat, beneath his tongue, behind his teeth. It takes nearly the whole demo for Bucky to get his shit together enough to pull out his sketchpad and to start in on this new portrait of Louis Jordan. Mr. Fraser pulls up an almost two hour long YouTube compilation of his greatest hits for them to listen to while they work, the sounds of smooth saxophones and brassy trumpets providing a nice, historically accurate atmosphere.

On the projector, Louis Jordan is bugging his eyes and smiling, wearing big white glasses and a top hat perched on his head. Bucky gets a little overwhelmed and can’t quite figure out where to start.

“Start with the outline,” Steve mutters, “Then fill in the details. See his shirt collar and tie? It might be easier to start there, or maybe with the hat.”

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief and shoots Steve a grateful look. 

About twenty minutes in, the rest of the students start talking amongst themselves and Bucky deems it safe to relax a little bit on his intense concentration. He glances over at Steve – who’s actually mouthing along to the brassy swing that’s playing. 

“You know this?” Bucky asks, gesturing toward the air. 

Eyes wide, Steve glances up, looking a little confused for a second before his expression clears. “Uh, yeah.” He scratches at his temple and brushes his hair over, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Grew up on the stuff. Aunt Liza hardly plays anything else.”

The words conjure up an image of Steve, tiny tiny tiny, nothing but eyes and thin limbs as he spins in circles with that thin woman Bucky’d seen in Steve’s sketchpad, shrieking with laughter and breathless glee. “You ever think you were born in the wrong decade?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs, smiling as he traces another line onto his paper, smudges it with the edge of his thumb. “Doesn’t every kid think that at some point?”

Bucky shrugs back. “I dunno, maybe.” He traces over the rim of the glasses on his page again, smoothing out the lines. “My granddad was born in ’27. So Dad grew up hearin’ the real classic Brooklyn accent. Kinda stuck with him and I guess he passed that on to me, even though my ma don’t sound nothin’ like this and she was born an’ raised in DUMBO.”

“Huh,” Steve says. “So, how’d you end up here? DUMBO’s…hell, I don’t think I ever stepped foot in it, but I heard it was pretty nice.”

Mr. Fraser makes his rounds and compliments Bucky on his progress, seeing as how he’d actually managed to get more than just a single eye done, and then moves on to Steve. Bucky, unable to help it, beams when Mr. Fraser enthuses over Steve’s. Things wind down after that, as most kids are fully distracted and now the room is full of layer upon layer of voices instead of just jazzy swing music and hushed conversation. 

“So, whaddya have next hour?” Bucky asks Steve after he packs up his bag.

“Design, across the hall with Ms. Stedman.” He points a thumb over his shoulder in that general direction.

“Oh, neat,” Bucky says. “Ain’t that the one where ya get to enter things for the display case?”

Steve nods, a hint of pink dusting over his cheeks. It’s probably splotching up his throat too and Bucky has to swallow to keep himself from tugging at Steve’s scarf.

The Pit is pretty neat with the way it’s set up. While the steps down into it are occasionally dangerous to navigate when there’s too much congestion at the doors, the left side sports a case that houses paintings and sculptures and multimedia projects. Bucky’s always loved to take a look anytime he’s able to take a second in the midst of all the traffic. It makes him wonder how many times he’s looked and seen Steve’s creations without ever knowing. 

“You oughta let me know when you’ve got somethin’ in there,” Bucky says, nudging his elbow into Steve’s shoulder.

The sixth hour bell rings and Bucky’s torn at wanting to leave for his next class immediately, the way he always does, and sticking around here just to talk to Steve a little bit more. 

“Hey, uh,” Bucky starts, looking Steve square in the face so he can read Bucky’s lips over the din of the kids leaving class and pouring into the hall. “Is it alright if I text you later?”

Steve looks at his lips, processing, and then looks up to Bucky’s eyes. “Sure,” he answers around a shrug. His smile is wry as he says, “I guess I’ll know to answer this time.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, starting to inch toward the door. “Good. Okay.” He gives a tight wave and dives into the fray, chest loose with the way Steve had been smiling at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fairly insignificant, but I’d still like to clarify: While the actor who portrays Gabe Jones, Derek Luke, is actually Guyanese on his paternal side, I am choosing to headcanon Gabe Jones in this AU as a second generation Cameroonian-American. This means that his mother immigrated to the United States from Cameroon and Gabe was born in NYC and, while all they and his grandmother speak English fluently, they all commonly speak French to one another in the household.
> 
> As always, you can come cry into my asks on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoon.tumblr.com)!


	3. lunch date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All afternoon, Bucky’s mind is running in a thousand different directions but it always seems to go back to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check for tag updates!

All afternoon, Bucky’s mind is running in a thousand different directions but it always seems to go back to Steve. He doesn’t know what it is about his dumb brain, but all he can do is obsess with the scenarios he keeps making up and playing out about how tonight is going to go. Which isn’t all that helpful for sixth hour, but for practice during seventh, Bucky’s content to let his mind center on that to get him through the three and a half miles Coach has them running. 

Gabe keeps pace with Bucky, though, and shooting him smug looks the whole damn time.

Sweaty and gross, they hit the showers afterward with the rest of the team and then Gabe’s following Bucky over to his car. 

“So,” he says, folding his arms as he leans against the driver’s side door, blocking Bucky from making an escape.

“So,” Bucky echoes. His muscles feel all tight and watery from overuse, but he’s about halfway through a bottle of PowerAde so it’s only a matter of time until that fades. There might be a banana in his bag, too. 

“You looked pretty familiar with ya boy Steve at lunch today,” Gabe says, mouth puckering to the side in consideration. “That ain’t the first time you talked to him, was it?”

Exhaling heavily, Bucky swipes some stray wet hair from his forehead. “Not exactly. We met up Friday night for a bit.” 

“Uh huh. And?”

“ _Jesus_ , Gabe, you’ve seen ‘im,” Bucky breathes, eyes going wide. “He’s somethin’ else.” He flinches, but accepts the punch that Gabe doles to his arm and puts his hands over his ears when he shouts all excitedly, switching mid-sentence from French to English and back again. “We didn’t – _Gabe_ , chill, we didn’t really – I mean. Kind of, but.”

Gabe still looks delighted, regardless. “You been eyein’ him since the beginning of the year, bruh. _Excuse me_ for just bein’ glad you’re finally gonna get some.” 

Bucky sighs. “Pal, I don’t even know if – if that’s what he wants.”

“From the look’a things, it seems like he sure as hell ain’t be opposed to the idea.” Gabe smirks, smug as hell. 

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, slowly returning the smile, “Maybe. We’ll see. If not – hell, I’m just happy he ain’t tellin’ me to stay away from him.” He shrugs.

“It’ll work out,” Gabe assures him, clasping his shoulder before he moves out of the way, heading toward his car a few spots away. 

After a roll of the eyes and a wave, Bucky starts up his car and starts the trek to the west side. When he gets home, he starts in on his homework like usual, repeating the phrase, “Delayed gratification, delayed gratification, delayed gratification,” over and over and turning his phone off to keep himself from outright texting Steve as soon as he walks through the door.

That lasts all of twenty minutes.

Phone back on, Bucky sifts through about thirty different variations of the same message that he ends up sending, just a general: _Hiya, Steve_. While he’s fretting over whether that was too casual or if he should’ve used an exclamation point or maybe just delved right into casual conversation, Bucky opens up his Calc textbook and stares blindly at his notes. 

In return, he gets: _Hey._

And, while Bucky’s vaguely freaking out – because _what the fuck kind of response is that?_ – his phone vibrates again with a: _What’s up?_

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief and mutters, “What the hell is wrong with me?” He can’t even start a simple conversation with a guy he’s talked to a handful of times now, and that’s absolutely pathetic. He’s been looking forward to this since he saw the guy and yet he’s freaking out over every little thing the way he always does and – Jesus, Bucky just wishes he could be normal for two damn minutes. He bets that Gabe never has this problem.

After lightly slapping his own cheek, Bucky responds: _Just started the calc hw. Already bored as hell. You?_

Steve replies: _Well, I was drawing. But if we’re gonna be texting, it’ll take me seventy years to finish anything. Maybe I ought to do my calc homework too._

_Seventy years?_

_That might be a slight exaggeration_

Barking out a laugh, something in Bucky’s chest settles a bit and it’s much easier to fall into conversation after that. Once he gets a feel for Steve’s dry sarcasm, it’s not too hard to fill in the blanks with his own brand of snark which Steve actually seems to appreciate. They end up texting throughout their Calc homework – with Steve giving Bucky pointers more than a few times – and then English and dinner and then Bucky works on Chem while Steve writes a paper for his AP Gov class.

_Still can’t believe you like barbeque sauce on your burgers. Heathen._

Snorting, Bucky types out: _No need to be all snooty Mr. Veggie Burger._

_You try getting ulcers every time you think it’s okay to eat meat again and see how you like it. Report back. Let me know so I can laugh in your face._

And shit, Bucky didn’t think of that. So far the list of Steve’s health problems is already fairly worrisome with the asthma and common respiratory infections, but combined with the partial deafness and penchant for standing up to bullies, and now apparently stomach ulcers, Bucky kind of wants to put the guy in bubble wrap and keep a constant eye on him. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t even _touching_ all the things that give Steve grief and it tugs a bit at Bucky’s heart.

He sends back: _Shit, that must be rough. So no meat?_

Steve’s eye-roll is practically audible when Bucky reads the next message: _No meat, not a lot of dairy, no pepper or garlic or onions or tomato products. Sometimes I can get away with fish, though._

Giving a low whistle as he rolls onto his stomach, Bucky types out: _Damn. So, what, fruits and veggies and…beans?_

_Essentially. Nuts too._

Bucky snorts and then sends: _Too easy. So do you usually pack your lunch?_

It takes a few minutes for Steve to respond, so while he’s waiting, Bucky brushes his teeth and changes into pajama pants. He starts his routine social media splurge and – while he’s at it, he takes a look at Steve’s Facebook, hoping that’s not too creepy. But when he clicks onto the profile, literally all it says is Steve’s name, their town, and that he has one friend. And it’s Bucky, which is…kind of strange.

Eventually, his phone buzzes again: _Sometimes. Don’t really like to eat at school all that much._

Heart pounding, and before he can psych himself out, Bucky sends: _Would you wanna go to lunch with me? We could go with the group or it could just be you and me if you want a little more peace and quiet to draw or whatever._

He doesn’t send the, “Or just forget I said anything,” that he’s thinking. Instead, Bucky starts in on taking five deep breaths, but only gets to three before Steve responds.

_Ok. No offense to your friends but can we go alone first? I think that Dugan guy doesn’t really like me…_

Bucky simultaneously feels full up with excitement and annoyance. Dum Dum can be an overprotective asshole sometimes. He sends to Steve: _Fine with me! And that’s cuz he obviously doesn’t know you. What’d he do? Do I need to kick his ass?_ And then: _Where do you wanna go?_

It’s nearing midnight by the time they get everything squared away. Bucky’s reluctant to say goodnight, but his eyelids feel heavy and he’s going to pass out at any moment. But there is one last thing he needs to know: _So I noticed you walk to school in the mornings…would you want me to give you a ride? I wouldn’t mind at all._

Steve sends back: _Thanks but no. Doctor says I need to exercise and walking is pretty much the only way I take care of that. You should get some sleep, Bucky._

Smiling, Bucky answers: _Yes, sir. Guess I won’t stop to pick you up then. Night Stevie._

_Sweet dreams, Bucky._

Heart fluttering, it takes no time at all for Bucky to drop off and in the morning, he wakes up before his alarm even goes off with a smile plastered to his face and his dick hard in his sleep pants. He’s almost too warm and happy and weirdly satisfied to even do anything about it, still clinging to fading tendrils of his dream, but eventually the soft cotton over the firm press of his mattress wins out and Bucky’s grinding himself against it and clinging to his pillow. It’s hardly any time at all before he’s close, just reaching in to give himself a few quick tugs and then he’s spilling hot and sticky into the cup of his palm, burying his groans while he shakes and shivers and then goes boneless. 

Swiping hair out of his mouth, Bucky stumbles his way into the bathroom to wash away the mess and start up the shower. It takes a few minutes, but when he focuses his eyes, Bucky sees a fucked out version of himself in the mirror as steam fills the room. He smiles.

Bucky dresses in his usual garb – skinny jeans, sweater, pea coat, and boots – and ties his hair up in a high bun before he nabs his keys and heads to school. On the way in, he sees Steve walking and so he slows down, honks, and waves. Steve looks up, confusion clear on his face, and then he waves back with a smile that Bucky only very briefly gets to see. He’s riding the high of that the remainder of the drive, so content with everything that he forgets to stop by Starbucks, but he can’t even find it in himself to care.

When Bucky gets to Calc, he’s practically vibrating with a heady cocktail of excitement and apprehension, hoping to calm himself down with some mindless Twitter for a while, searching #puppies to maintain his good mood.

Class starts and Bucky tries his hardest not to keep glancing at the door – but gives up once the two minute mark passes and in walks Steve.

And _Jesus_ , he always looks so good. 

Bucky almost feels guilty about how much he likes the way Steve’s clothes kind of hang off his frame, like he’s just that tiny. It’s not like Steve can help it, after all. But literally _everything_ about the kid makes Bucky’s heart beat right up into his throat and it gets so much worse – or, maybe better – when Steve shoots him a smile on the way to his seat. 

Smiling back, Bucky ducks his head and feels his cheeks warm as he jots down a few more notes that Mr. Foltz writes up onto the board. And it’s weird, but Bucky feels much more grounded knowing that Steve’s only a few rows away. 

Halfway into working on the assigned problems, Bucky looks up and sees Steve looking at him. Caught, Steve blushes down to his throat and looks back at his paper, flushed and gorgeous and Bucky _can’t breathe_ with how much he just wants to march over there and _kiss the guy_. It hasn’t even been a week, and Bucky’s not even sure where they stand – if Steve wants to be friends, wants a relationship, wants something casual – but Bucky doesn’t care; he’ll take whatever Steve offers and treasure it with his whole heart. And maybe that’s stupid, and ridiculously high school, but Bucky doesn’t even _care_. He feels good when he talks to Steve, looks at Steve, breathes air from the same room as Steve. He wants to deserve that. Desperately.

The bell rings and Bucky’s still staring, so of course he jumps, and then he’s gathering up his textbook and binder, filing his notes neatly away behind the Chapter 6 tab. When he stands and looks back over to Steve, he’s frowning down at his paper, that familiar scowl tugging at his lips. Bucky’s breath _still_ catches.

“Hi, Stevie,” Bucky says, aiming for casual, but failing when he bumps into a desk and it screeches against the flooring.

Scowl morphing into a grin, Steve says, “Smooth.”

“Oh, can it, Rogers,” Bucky says, chagrined. “You try –” _walkin’ up to the prettiest guy you ever seen and not makin’ a fool outta yourself._ He swallows. “Nevermind. How are ya?”

The look Steve gives him is amused. “I’m good. Lunch today, right?”

Bucky nods and then, stomach dropping like a bag of bricks, he realizes that he hadn’t cancelled his usual plans with the crew.

“Uh,” Steve says, “We don’t have to go if you don’t want.”

“What? _No_ ,” Bucky says, too quickly, “I do. I do want to.”

“Then why d’you look like you just shit your pants?” Steve asks pointedly. “You have a very expressive face, you know.”

Scratching at his eyebrow, Bucky says, “No, it’s – I just forgot to tell the fellas I wouldn’t be joinin’ ‘em today. I’ll just shoot Gabe a text.” He clears his throat, trying for a cool smile. “Meet me at the commons doors?”

“You got it,” Steve says. 

The next two hours drag on for what feels like _days_. In AP Chem, Morita gives Bucky shit about getting there later than him again and this time he knows to ask whether or not it was because of Steve. Bucky’s honest and that gets him a few excited punches in the kidney. Ms. Craddock threatens to send Morita out to “have a chat with Principal Fury” and Jim very quickly sobers. After chemistry class, Bucky hightails it to the south halls for English and spends the rest of the passing period texting with Gabe, who promises to keep his new lunch plans on the DL until they get back. When class starts and they’re split into their groups again, it takes half the period for them to reach a consensus, but they finally do, and Bucky gives it his all when they take turns analyzing passages to help turn their story into an allegory. 

By the time the bell rings, Bucky’s just about sick with excitement. There’s no need to rush to the commons, because Steve let him know that the lunch rush is the absolute worst, so Bucky takes his time and leans against one of the concrete tables as he watches the doors. 

After five minutes have passed and most of the upperclassmen are stuck in the parking lot’s congestion or already off campus, Steve finally makes an appearance. He’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder and one earbud in, hair swept to the side beneath his beanie. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, pushing off of the table and trying not to beam like a lunatic. “You ready to go?” It’s really hard not to notice the way he kind of towers over Steve, maybe half a foot or so.

Steve’s eyes dart up from his mouth and then he’s yanking the earbud out, winding it and shoving it into his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry, all I caught was ‘go.’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “Don’t apologize; that was my fault. Shoulda known better. I asked if you’re ready to go.”

“Yep,” Steve says. 

Like they’d planned, Bucky takes Steve to a nearby café to pick up food and then they take it back to one of the parks in the neighborhood by the school. Bucky sets up one of the swings with his sandwich while Steve sticks to one of the benches, watching him from behind his glasses as he nibbles at one of his own, packed from home. It barely looks like more than wheat bread and lettuce, but Bucky doesn’t poke fun at Steve the way he’s probably expecting. 

After he’s finished, Bucky calls, “Why don’t you come join me, Stevie,” over the rush of wind in his ears. It’s cold out and he knows that his cheeks are probably pink as hell. “It’s still just as fun as it was when you were seven, I guarantee it.”

Steve laughs. “Not if you want me to hold this down,” he says.

“ _C’mon_ ,” Bucky wheedles, “It can’t be that bad.”

“Believe me,” Steve says, “It can.” Instead, he tucks one boot beneath himself and tugs his sketchpad out of his bag.

As he begins to doodle, Bucky wanders over, caught like an autumn leaf on the breeze by the intensity of Steve’s concentration. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even try to peek at what Steve’s drawing; Bucky just lies down on the bench, his head right near Steve’s knee and his legs hanging off the end. For a little while he just stares up at Steve’s face upside down, unable to help it. 

“I have a question,” Bucky says.

“Good to know.”

“ _Steve._ ”

“ _Bucky._ ”

“It’s real important.”

Steve erases at the paper and then fills in another line, brows furrowed. “Guess you’d better ask it then.”

Bucky lets a pause hang between them for all of sixteen seconds – as long as it takes for Steve to look down at him – and then asks, “ _Star Wars_ or _Star Trek_?” His smile is slow, growing bigger with each little huff that Steve lets out when he laughs. 

“Is this a test?”

Nodding solemnly, Bucky says, “Absolutely.”

“Really, Bucky?” Steve asks flatly, humor edging at his voice.

“Yeah, really! This is the kind of question that could make or break a –” _Friendship? Relationship?_ Bucky has no clue what to call this thing between them. “– things.”

Still looking vaguely amused, Steve sighs and says, “I like them both.” When Bucky starts to protest, Steve gives him a pointed look until Bucky clamps his mouth shut. “ _But_ , since you’re making me choose, I’m going to have to say…Shit, no. I can’t choose. Don’t make me choose.”

Bucky doesn’t react. 

At least, not until Steve quirks a brow.

“You know what? Good answer. You passed.” 

Content for the moment, Bucky closes his eyes and swipes errant tendrils of hair from his face. That’s one thing that annoys him about his hair. It can never actually stay in a bun all day, let alone withstand some wind. He yanks the hair tie out, letting his hair spill out over the bench, and works it down onto his wrist. It releases a bit of the tension he hadn’t known was building up in his temples and Bucky sighs, happy to (literally) let his hair down and to listen to Steve sketching. 

“Much better,” he says.

Steve smiles. “Looks good too.”

Warmth suffuses Bucky and he has to close his eyes against it.

After a few moments, Bucky feels a hand – _Steve’s hand_ – come down to card through his hair, fingers firm but gentle and soothing. It takes everything Bucky has not to groan. A sigh escapes and Bucky just knows he’s got a slack-jawed, blissed out expression on his face, but with his eyes closed he doesn’t have to think about Steve’s opinion on the matter. 

If Bucky could, he’d be purring.

Bucky loses time in a way that he never really does – it could be two minutes or five minutes or, hell, _twenty_ – but he can’t find it in himself to mind. That part of his brain gets put in a box and tucked away in the back of a locked closet. All he can focus on is how good he feels, how safe, how happy, how deserving. _Steve_ chose to do this. Unprompted, Steve decided to pet Bucky like he’s his favorite little thing and it makes Bucky’s heart swell up like a balloon in his chest, bursting and letting out all of the goodness to course through his veins and arteries, carving a path all the way down to his toes and back. 

He realizes distantly, in a far off and grayscale way, that he’s getting hard. Yet, even that doesn’t even matter.

Just as Bucky feels himself really start to sink, Steve’s fingers scrape at his temples, his scalp, behind his ears. They’re cold. Bucky hears himself groan, feels himself nuzzle closer. He can hear Steve’s voice, but it’s still too far away – but Bucky tries catching at it, tugging at the strings even when they slip through his fingers until finally he grabs hold and comes out of the other end.

“Huh?” Bucky asks, attempting to sit up. 

It’s more of a slump but he’s pretty sure he’s mostly upright. The absence of Steve’s fingers in his hair feels a little wrong but Bucky thinks he might be smiling. He feels like his chest is full of bubbles, weird and light.

“You okay?”

When he looks at Steve’s face, his brows are furrowed and that frown has returned, made itself home in the corners of Steve’s mouth. Bucky blinks and nods. “How long’sIeep?”

“ _What?_ ”

He tries again. “How long w’s I asleep?”

“Uh,” Steve says, looking back down to his closed sketchpad over his lap. “I’m not sure if you were?”

“Huh.” Bucky takes a deep breath and looks around. They’re still at the park. It’s November so it’s supposed to be cold, but Bucky feels warm. “Felt like it.” He breathes some more and blinks heavily. “Are you cold? D’ya wanna wear my jacket?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” Steve says. “Buck, be honest with me. Are you sure _you’re_ okay?”

Bucky nods and smiles. Steve’s so pretty, even when he’s all concerned. Bucky shakes his head. “C’n I’va hug?”

Steve looks a little frustrated as he looks at Bucky’s mouth but then his eyes look back up at Bucky’s and he’s asking, “A hug? You want a hug from me?”

Bucky nods. 

It looks like Steve’s muttering to himself, but he untucks his leg and ushers Bucky to standing, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s middle. He’s so _tiny_. But he feels like so much. Bucky wraps his arms right back, feeling like he could go twice around Steve’s shoulders and smiles when he feels Steve tuck his face against Bucky’s chest. He doesn’t really know how long they stand there, just hugging, but Bucky feels a little bit better when Steve pulls away. “Warm now?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, my god,” Steve grumbles, a wry smile creeping its way onto his mouth as pink does the same to his cheeks, “I’m fine. But we should probably head back. I know you don’t like being late.”

“Okay.”

Steve rolls his eyes and puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to practically frog-march him back over to his car. “I’m kinda wondering if I should let you drive…”

“Why?”

“Because you’re being weirdly monosyllabic,” Steve says. “Do my head rubs have magical intoxicating qualities?”

Bucky tries to think back to the past five minutes and comes up kind of blank, too content with the way his body’s all thrumming and warm. “Yeah.”

Steve sighs. “Okay. Give me your keys.” Without question, Bucky digs into his jacket pocket and places it into Steve’s upturned palm, smiling way too wide when Steve says, “Very good. Alright. Progress.” He opens up the passenger door. “Hop in.”

After Bucky complies and manages the coordination to strap himself in, Steve gets in on the driver’s side and spends a good five minutes just adjusting the seat and mirrors. It’s kind of strange, but Steve narrates the whole way back to the school, driving incredibly slowly without honking or cursing even _once_. 

When Steve finally parks, Bucky asks, “Are you sure you’re from New York?”

Giving a snort, Steve says, “Yeah, but I’ve only got a motor cycle license. Didn’t wanna wreck your car or get pulled over.”

And…Bucky doesn’t really know how to respond to that. So he doesn’t. He sits quietly. 

“Are you ready to go in?”

“Yeah.”

Steve looks at Bucky and something about his expression has Bucky sitting up straighter, clinging a little tighter to the way Steve’s watching him. “Your friends are going to be in there, Bucky. They’re going to see us walk in together.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “That’s – If you don’t mind.”

“ _I_ don’t mind. I just thought you were worried about what Tim Dugan might think,” Steve says.

Rolling his eyes, feeling a little bit more himself, Bucky says, “Dum Dum can get over himself. He’ll see how awesome you are.”

Steve gives a wry laugh and rests his head against the seat. He lolls his head over to look at Bucky. “Alright. Well, let’s do this thing then.”

Two steps away from the commons doors, Bucky feels his heart start to do that fluttery panic thing that usually has him counting out big, deep breaths. Instead, he reaches forward and grabs Steve’s hand. And it’s – Steve doesn’t miss a beat. He looks back over his shoulder and gives a reassuring half-smile as he twines their fingers. 

Bucky’s next breath isn’t difficult at all.

He falls into step next to Steve once they’re through the doors, leading the way towards the rest of the Howling Commandos. There are tons of people in the commons since it’s nearing the end of lunch, but Bucky tunnels his vision to focus on his feet next to Steve’s, his friends up ahead. 

Gabe spots them first, eyes darting down to their clasped hands and then back up to Bucky’s face, expression morphing into a smile like the sun splitting through rainclouds for the first time in ages – because Gabe’s face is just like that. And of course that grabs Morita’s attention and then Dernier’s and Falsworth’s and finally Dum Dum’s. Bucky feels Steve give his fingers a squeeze.

No longer too incredibly nervous, Bucky sidles up to the edge of the group, grinning when Gabe and Dernier split to allow them room. 

Just as soon as Bucky opens his mouth to introduce Steve to the rest of the fellas, Dum Dum opens his big fat mouth and says, “Too good to eat lunch with us, eh?”

There’s an awkward – because, _Jesus, really?_ – pause where Bucky and Dum Dum stare each other down, but then, Steve’s saying, “Do I look like Howling Commando material?”

To Bucky, he looks like he could have them all wrapped around his little finger, following him through hell, high water, and everything in between. But the rest of the group eyes him up, waiting the tension out. 

Then Dum Dum says, “Maybe if you gained a hundred pounds, kid. Betcha ain’t even a buck soaking wet,” and barks a big, obnoxious laugh before crossing their little circle and clapping Steve’s shoulder. The rest of the guys laugh too and Bucky can feel his own faint smile as he just holds onto Steve. “Don’t worry. We’ll work on it.”

Steve’s half-smile makes Bucky’s heart stutter. “Sure.”

“So, uh, fellas,” Bucky says, clearing his throat. “This is Steve.” He smiles when Steve ducks his head and gives a little wave.

“Timothy Dugan,” Dum Dum says, “At your service.” Then he turns to Dernier and says, “This here is Jacques Dernier, foreign exchange student extraordinaire. Then you have Montgomery Falsworth, who isn’t actually a foreign exchange student despite the Queen’s English. That’s Jim Morita – _from Fresno_ – and Gabe Jones. What do we say boys?”

Once he’s finished, all of six of them, Bucky included, throw their heads back and do their signature howl. 

It draws silence in the rest of the commons, then cheering and a few laughs, and then finally the dull roar of hundreds of conversations swallows up any subsequent embarrassment Bucky might feel. Freshman year, he was the one who rallied the troops and led the battle cry, but ever since – well. He doesn’t really know, but _something_ changed in him, intrinsic and weird. Bucky didn’t mind to let Dugan step up. Feels more equal all around this way, anyway.

“That’s, uh…loud,” Steve finally says, laughing. He looks at Bucky and gives his hand another squeeze, raising a brow.

“How else d’ya think we got the name, son?” Gabe asks, flashing a smile. Morita tugs on the top strap of Gabe’s backpack until he almost tips over backward, and then they’re tussling, knocking Bucky into Steve.

While he’s about to say, “Sorry,” to Steve, Dernier says something to him in French – and _Steve_ actually _responds_ , saying, “ _On va voir_ ,” to whatever it was and Dernier smirks like that was an acceptable answer. 

Bucky’s neck cracks, he whips his head around so fast. His voice might be shrill when he asks, “You speak French?” But he can tell that Steve’s having difficulty hearing over the commotion of the commons – and then the bell rings anyway. Steve’s looking around kind of panicked, because he’s never in the midst of all of this chaos anymore, and it’s obvious that he must be feeling like a fish swimming upstream in rapids. Bucky tugs at his hand and offers a smile, nodding his head toward Morita and Gabe. “C’mon, they’ll block for us.”

Gabe has Morita in a headlock, but he shoots a salute over his shoulder at Bucky and winks with a, “You got it, Sarge.”

Shifting back, Bucky takes a half-step behind Steve while Gabe and Morita walk (arms’ length apart once Bucky shoots them a displeased eyebrow) a few feet in front of them. It keeps people off of Steve enough for them to make it safely to The Pit. Steve drops Bucky’s hand before they enter the classroom and he very nearly whines at the loss of contact, but then Gabe and Jim are standing there in front of the doorway saluting like a couple of idiots and Bucky snorts because his friends are weird. Weird, but really good to him.

Ever so politely, Steve reaches out to shake their hands – to actually _shake their hands_ like they’re real adults or something. “Thanks Jim, Gabe. Appreciate the backup.”

“Thanks, fellas,” Bucky says, shooting them both a grateful smile even as he’s waving them away. 

“See you at practice, Barnes!” Gabe says, putting Morita in another headlock. The look he gives Bucky says all kinds of shit and Bucky doesn’t even mind. He’ll deal with that later.

As they walk in and take their seats in the back, Bucky asks Steve, “Do you speak French?” because he kind of _can’t get over that_. 

Steve slumps into the chair like he’s exhausted – and he very well could be – but he answers, kind of breathlessly, “Yeah. Took it for two years, but –” Steve sucks in another breath. “Aunt Liza did a few years in the peace corps. Taught me lots.”

Brows furrowed, Bucky eyes Steve and then leans in and asks, “D’ya need your inhaler?”

Shaking his head, Steve says, “Not that. Just need a sec.”

And as much as Bucky wants to grasp onto Steve and hover all worriedly, Bucky backs off and goes on getting out his class materials because the scowl’s back and Steve looks like he’s concentrating really hard on keeping his breaths even. It doesn’t stop him from eyeing Steve every now and again. Throughout the lecture and demo, Bucky watches Steve’s shoulders come down from around his ears and feels a little bit better.

Throughout class, the distance between them kills Bucky. All he wants to do is scoot his chair as close as possible and – hell, he’s torn between wanting to be petted again like during lunch and wanting to _pet Steve_ , to just nudge up against him and wrap him up and make sure he’s feeling okay. And if he’s not, then Bucky would absolutely volunteer to take him home, get him all tucked in and comfortable and safe. He’d do whatever it takes to make sure Steve is well taken care of – and _then_ maybe get his hair played with for his efforts. 

Just thinking about it has Bucky’s breath catching in his throat.

And either it’s loud, or he’s moved or maybe made a face, because Steve looks over at him. Bucky looks away, shifting in his seat as he resituates his sketchpad and tries to remember what he’s supposed to be drawing. 

With five minutes left, Mr. Fraser turns off the projector and turns them loose with a curmudgeonly, “Get outta my classroom.” Most of the kids hastily pack up and jet out, thrilled with the prospect of getting to roam the halls unattended, but Bucky – he kind of _hates_ it, at least until he looks over at Steve and sees that he’s dawdling, blushing, clearing his throat. Bucky doesn’t know what that’s all about, so he just keeps an eye on him while he packs up his own things.

When Steve stands, he sways a bit. 

Bucky grabs onto his arm before he even recognizes he’s doing so. “Whoa,” he says, steadying Steve, “You okay?”

Steve offers up a half-smile. “Still feel like I should be the one asking you that. What was the deal at lunch?”

Shrugging, Bucky says, “I got no clue; those magic fingers’a yours, I guess.” Steve walks slowly toward the door, shaky like a foal, and Bucky hovers, ready to catch Steve if he’s unsteady again as they head out to the hall. “If it’s not the asthma then what is it?”

“I’m _fine_ , Buck,” Steve snaps – and then his face immediately morphs into a horror-flavored regret. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He stops in front of the display case across the hall, hanging his head and rubbing at his eye with thin fingers. “Just…I got dizzy. Stood up too fast. It’s nothing.”

Quietly, Bucky says, “If you say so,” and steps closer anyway. Steve’s a prickly little thing but it’s obvious that he’s probably been treated like this his whole life.

Becca used to keep plants in her room. Her windowsill was full of them – all kinds of ferns and succulents and a few attempts at sprouts – but there was only one little cactus. A tiny thing, barely more than a bulb with a bright pink flower on top that only reared its reluctant head in the middle of fall. Bucky always loved it. He’d come into Becca’s room to sit on the foot of her bed while she was doing homework, just to talk at her about his day and ask how hers had been, to ruffle her hair and dodge her slaps, to touch the fuzzy leafed succulents and the spines of the little cactus. He’d expect the sting, each and every time, but it’d never stop him. Becca ended up taking them with her to SVA and Bucky can’t help but miss them a little bit.

But then he focuses on Steve in front of him and smiles, because it seems like he’s got his own little cactus right here.

“What are you smiling about?” Steve asks, still scowling. 

Bucky reaches down and thumbs light and quick at the two little divots between Steve’s brows. “You’re a cactus.”

Raising a brow, Steve huffs a laugh, then closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I really did fry your brain earlier, didn’t I?”

“Little bit.” Bucky reaches forward again, then stops himself, wondering why in the hell he’s being so clingy. 

But Steve notices and he reaches forward and grabs Bucky’s hand. “Better?”

Bucky nods.

“Good,” Steve says. “Sorry I snapped. That was rude of me to do.”

While Bucky’s shrugging in response, the bell rings and they’re subjected to the cacophony of hundreds of students pouring out into the halls in an echo of earlier. Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand a little tighter and then nods his head toward Ms. Stedman’s room, raising his brow in question. Steve nods, pulling his scarf up over his nose, and lets Bucky lead the way. He really only has to dodge two or three kids, too involved in conversations and flirting to notice him standing there unmoving, Steve tucked behind him. There’s a brief opening between one wave of students and the next, so Bucky gives a tug and drags Steve into Ms. Stedman’s class.

She doesn’t even look up at him from her computer – which Bucky is noticing as a trend among the jaded old hippy types who teach the art classes – as Bucky waltzes in like he belongs. It smells more like turpentine here than across the hall, turpentine and clay and kiln. There’s art of all kinds of every single surface and when he looks at Steve he looks content, right at home in all the mess.

Steve releases Bucky’s hand, tugs down his scarf, and dumps his bag beneath a chair at a far table, near what must be the supply closet that spilleth over and then shoots an easier grin at Bucky. “Thanks for being my human shield.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says, almost too sincerely, caught breathless in the way Steve bites at his lip. 

And Steve, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners, shoves his hair to the side and says, “Shouldn’t you get to class?”

Bucky _should_. But he doesn’t really want to. He wants to stay and be near Steve and watch him draw or paint or sculpt or _breathe_. “Yeah…”

“Then _go_ ,” Steve says. He braces his hands against the table, pinning Bucky with a look. “You can text me later.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, nodding more to himself than at Steve. “Okay.” He feels Steve’s eyes on him as he leaves.

Bucky runs into Falsworth in the hall and wraps an arm around his shoulder as they head into sixth hour together. But the thing is, Monty is tall – taller than Bucky, even – and it feels weird to be the smaller one, not right the way it had when Steve was all tucked against him. He’s feeling a lot more clear-headed now, but still not exactly right. Like that glow, or whatever it had been, had opened up this whole new thing inside of him and now that he’s touched it, that _Steve_ touched it, it needs to be tended to and nourished.

“You alright, mate?” Falsworth asks. “I take it’s something to do with Steve. You’ve been acting peculiar all week.”

Flopping into his chair, and tired of being so transparent, Bucky just shrugs. Then he laughs, shaking his head and saying, “This is bad, ain’t it? I’m already this wrapped up in ‘im an’ we ain’t even official.”

“But you’d like to be?”

“Without a doubt,” Bucky says immediately, and then pausing, thinking, he amends it to, “As long as he wants it too.”

Monty rolls his eyes and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “If you fancy him, why don’t you ask him to _semi-formal?_ ” He barely gets the question out before he’s laughing. “I’m only joking. The underclassmen would eat you alive.”

Bucky actually finds it a lot easier to throw himself into the work they’re supposed to be doing, clearing the final checklist for the athletic award ceremony assembly on Friday. It’s mostly mindless work, but he can handle mindless. He loves clear tasks and guidelines and being able to check the ‘complete’ box once he’s done what he’s supposed to do. It also helps that Falsworth chatters at him, giving details about what he’d missed at lunch – because apparently Dum Dum had figured it out before anyone had even opened their mouths and he’d been upset, convinced that Bucky was going to shoot up heroin with Steve or something. Bucky laughs when he’s supposed to, even though it might be a little slow off the starting block, but Falsworth only looks at him like he’s nuts a handful of times.

Seventh hour, the varsity seniors get to lift weights instead of running agility drills and Bucky pushes himself so hard he’s shaking at the end, glad he’s being spotted by Gabe when he almost forgets to put a clamp on the end of the bar. They all keep quiet, focused on their reps instead of giving each other shit the way they do when they’re out on the field. 

But of course that ends when they’re finished up and heading to the showers.

“You’re being quiet,” Gabe says, slinging a sweaty arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “Well, quieter than normal. Thinkin’ ‘bout Steve?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s _always_ thinking about Steve now. If he’s not thinking over what they’ve done or said, he’s thinking of new things to talk about, questions to ask, or opinions to consider. “Hey, Gabe, what’d he say to Dernier earlier?”

Gabe lets go of Bucky and starts winding his towel as they near the locker room. “He said, ‘We’ll see.’”

“See about what? What’d Dernier ask?”

Smiling, Gabe says, “Asked if you two were official yet.” Then he’s darting forward to snap Dum Dum with his towel, leaving Bucky alone to tend to his warm, fuzzy and then, subsequently, panic-tinged thoughts.

 

*

 

It’s not until Bucky’s home, halfway through his chemistry homework, that he starts to feel like he got hit by a Mack truck. He’s sore and shaky and he feels a little bit like he had earlier, like he needs a hug. Like he needs _Steve_.

So he whips out his phone and texts: _I need a medic._

And Steve’s response is fast: _U ok?_ It’s a little weird, because for the few days that they’ve been texting, Steve hasn’t ever used any abbreviations or shortcuts.

_Sore as hellllllll_ is what he texts back, hoping that he’s not worrying Steve. 

A handful of minutes pass and there’s no word from Steve. Bucky finishes his chemistry and moves on to English. He starts in on the passage analysis and thanks his lucky stars for SparkNotes because he doesn’t know how in the hell an owl isn’t supposed to symbolize time. He’s nearly finished before he gets another message from Steve around half-past seven.

_I’d offer a massage, but given what playing with your hair did, I’m not sure your brain could take it._

And, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Bucky says, shifting in his desk chair as he remembers the soothing touch and gentle pressure. He sends back: _Yeah, that might actually make me implode._

_No, none of that. I like having you around._

Bucky’s body suffuses with warmth, blood rushing to fill everything full up. He knows he’s smiling, he’s blushing, he’s trying not to giggle like he’s back in middle school and Natasha Romanov is finally giving him the time of day. Because this is _Steve_ and he’s an adult (well, nearly) and yet here Bucky is all giddy at the thought that Steve _like_ likes him. 

_That so?_ he responds.

_Absolutely._

And, _Jesus_ , Bucky might actually just implode from this. _Then how about lunch again tomorrow?_

It takes a few moments for Steve to respond, but when he does the text says: _Sure. We can go with your friends too if you want._

Feeling bold, a little reckless, Bucky asks: _How about pretty much every day after that?_

_Oh, so you wanna be my steady Lunch Plans? Is this you trying to get in my pants?_

There it is. It’s a clear opening with plenty of options for response. He could joke it off…but that’d be stupid. Why not just go for it? “Don’t be a coward, Barnes.” Bracing himself Bucky sends: _In them, against them, Bible-length away, I don’t really care as long as it’s what you want too._

Now, Bucky isn’t exactly the religious type. His ma’s Episcopalian and his dad’s a non-practicing Jew, but Bucky’d never really paid much attention when he’d been dragged to church because it’d never really resonated with him. But now he finds himself drawing in with all the faith and good vibes he’s got, throwing them out toward any deity that might be listening, “Don’t let me make an ass’a myself.” 

His phone buzzes. He almost doesn’t want to look at it.

_Nice try, Barnes. If you want to ask me out, you’d better try it again in person._

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Bucky texts back: _Wish I had the science skills for beaming technology._

He can practically hear Steve’s laugh when he gets his response: _Haha, I think it’s a few hundred years too early. But I appreciate the implication._

Bucky sends back a smiley face and then asks: _So, you might reconsider when I ask this but I’m gonna ask anyway – what was with the dizzy spell in art today?_

Steve’s response takes long enough that Bucky finishes the analysis, trying his hardest to ignore the worry that’s biting at the back of his skull. It says: _I kept forgetting to refill the prescription for one of my meds and I’ve been without it for a couple of days. Picked it up on the way home, though, so I’ll be fine._

With the feeling that Steve’s avoiding a bigger issue, Bucky moves on asks Steve a few more this-or-that questions as he finishes all of the rest of his homework and warms up some EasyMac for dinner since Ma’s out of town for work and Dad’s content to eat leftover stroganoff. 

The thing about it is that Steve’s answers are surprising more often than not. 

He’s a big fan of Destiny’s Child and N’Sync but not the Spice Girls or the Backstreet Boys, but he prefers big bands of the thirties and forties more than anything. His favorite food actually happens to be pizza but he says he won’t eat it unless he’s ordered it delivery from home (and Bucky had busted a gut at the idea of Steve admitting to bathroom issues, but then felt a little bad because apparently it’s actually _painful_ when he eats dairy; just the thought of Steve in pain makes Bucky feel ninety shades of wrong) and he says there’s not enough money in the world that will make him eat another popsicle. 

But the biggest surprise is how passionate he gets about _why_ AP Government is his favorite class. The texts go from one or two sentences to blocks of paragraphs, like the kid’s writing a damn persuasive essay. It’s obvious that he really, truly and deeply cares about fundamental rights and freedom and truth and honor – which just goes to show that Steve is so intrinsically _good_. 

“Who’s got ya glued to the phone, kiddo?” his Dad asks over the top of his book. “It’s not that Howard fella, is it?”

“No, Dad,” Bucky says, “and Howard’s not – he’s not a bad guy.”

“Uh huh. Tell it to the judge; I don’t buy it.” He dog-ears the page he was on and leans back, fixing Bucky with an expectant look. “Don’t make me whip out the middle name.”

As much as he might want to, Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes because that’s disrespectful and his parents definitely raised him better than that. “His name’s Steve.”

“Steve, huh?” Dad asks, to which Bucky nods, and he must get a truly dopey look on his face because then Dad says, “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“Do I need to get out Winnie’s wedding binder already? You’ve got that look.”

Bucky laughs. “ _Dad_. No. It’s not. I ain’t even asked him out yet. Not properly.”

“Uh huh,” his dad says, picking up his book again. “Make sure ya stock up on condoms.”

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Bucky says, turning on his heel to flee to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester from hell is over and now I am spending all of my time being a lazy potato. I'm hoping to keep a few chapters ahead so that even when next semester starts I'll still have stuff for you guys. Thanks for all of the comments and kudos!
> 
> Like I said, this story is incredibly self-indulgent and there is little I love more than boys discovering kink together. Prepare for more of that ahead.


	4. making things official

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everybody! Consider this 9K of mostly porn my gift to you. (Also, a certain part of this was, retrospectively, inspired by this [tumblr post](http://motherofsleipnir.tumblr.com/post/105427457541/like-hes-the-ocean-and-its-a-goddamn-shame).) Check for new tags!

It takes everything Bucky has to force himself to fall asleep after he and Steve say goodnight. Steve had, once again, brought up how weird Bucky had been acting after lunch and Bucky honestly doesn’t know what happened. So he tries to catalogue what he _does_ know:

He just knows that Steve had made him feel good, _really_ good when he’d played with his hair, and it had been really hard to step back out of it. He knows it had felt better when Steve hugged him and when Steve held his hand afterward, and he’d felt weirdly empty and alone when there was distance between them. He knows that it’d been hard to engage with other people and in his work and that his focus had been pretty much shot to hell all afternoon. He knows that he’d lifted weights and hardly felt any of the usual strain. He knows that he’d gradually felt more and more like himself as time passed, but he’d wanted to cling to the feeling he’d had earlier and maybe _that_ is exactly why.

Bucky wakes up groggy in the morning, jittery with nerves. He gets ready, honks at Steve on his drive to school, grabs coffee, sits in first hour bouncing his leg while he’s waiting for Steve to make it in – at least until the girl in front of him turns around and politely asks him to stop. 

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, same time as Steve when he walks in and takes his seat. His heart pounds right up into his throat the second they make eye contact, Steve’s scowl transforming into a tiny smile.

It makes Bucky feel good – not the same kind of good as yesterday, but maybe an echo or a ripple. It makes him feel like Steve’s going to say yes when Bucky gets up the guts to ask him to be his.

And by the time the bell rings and Bucky’s stumbling down Steve’s row and blurting out, “Hey,” he’s so nervous that he could probably throw up if he so much as thought about it too hard.

“Hey, yourself, Barnes,” Steve says, looking up at Bucky with those bright blue eyes. “You got something to say or are you gonna just stand there looking pretty?”

Bucky feels himself blushing – not just the nerves, but because Steve just called him _pretty_ – and he has to look away, look down because it’s too much. “ _Steve_ , I’m tryin’ to –” he whines, and then he clears his throat, gathering up the confidence he needs, “Will you be m–?”

“Yes,” Steve answers quickly.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Bucky says, “Thank _god_.” 

Steve reaches out and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Go to class, Bucky,” he orders, “Unless you want Morita to rub it in your face again.”

“You’re right. See you at lunch?” Bucky asks, making sure to walk backwards so Steve can still read his lips. He bumps into a girl trying to make her way down the row and he’s apologizing, hearing Steve’s laugh as he leaves the classroom.

As soon as Bucky takes his seat in chemistry class, Morita comes rushing in and says, “Dude, at the rate we’re going, we might all actually have prom dates.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, because _of course_ Morita already knows. “Who the hell even told ya? Jeez, it literally happened three minutes ago.”

“Natasha Romanov.”

“But I ain’t even told her yet! What the hell…”

By the time Bucky gets to third hour, he’s hearing murmurs as gossip swirls around him, a few brave souls coming up to him in the hallway on his way to clasp him on the shoulder, offer a smile, and congratulate him on his new boyfriend. And Bucky had had no clue how fast word travels on the grapevine, but this must be a new record. 

After English, Bucky waits for Steve outside of the commons doors and beams the moment he sees him. 

“Sure you’re ready for this?” Bucky asks, reaching out for Steve’s hand as soon as he’s close enough.

But Steve surprises him, all but barreling in, getting his hands on Bucky’s cheeks and standing on his tip-toes to land a kiss right on his mouth. It barely lasts more than a second, but Bucky’s face tingles when Steve’s hands drop and he knows he’s wearing that dopey grin.

“I’ve been wanting to do that again since Friday,” Steve admits, twining the fingers of his left with Bucky’s right. “And yeah; let’s do this.” 

When they meet up with the guys at Gabe’s SUV, Dugan’s AWOL – because apparently Lakshmi has decided that they need to go on a lunch date. Dernier takes shotgun while Morita spreads out in the third row to catch a quick nap while Steve and Bucky squeeze in next to the sprawl of Falsworth’s stupidly long legs in the second row. 

It turns out that Steve fits in with the fellas like he’s known them his entire life, the same way it felt when Bucky first had a real conversation with him. Lunch is full of good-natured ribbing and stupid jokes. Falsworth makes a pun that makes everyone groan and roll their eyes, but Steve actually _snorts_ and comes back with one that’s _even worse_ , and then they’re all laughing way too hard and Bucky can’t help but press in tighter against Steve’s side.

Gabe and Dernier carry on a conversation in French – and Steve actually interjects a few times, making Dernier laugh like a douchebag around his taco while Gabe smirks into the rearview mirror. Bucky doesn’t even mind feeling lost about it, he’s just happy that Steve and his friends are actually getting along so well. 

And it’s pretty much the same thing on Friday too, just with the addition of Dum Dum.

Things are much more relaxed what with it being an afternoon assembly schedule all day long and classes are shortened to only thirty-five minutes instead of the usual fifty. The teachers don’t care to teach full lessons and the students don’t mind one bit, too preoccupied with talking about who’s going to get which award during the ceremony they’re supposed to be having, who’s sitting with whom and where to meet up to go into the gym together. 

In art, Bucky and Steve sit so that Steve’s left boot is tucked over Bucky’s right.

“Hey, Bucky, do you know if you’re getting any awards?” Steve asks, biting at his bottom lip as he glances up.

Bucky shrugs, filling in another line. His bird is looking weirdly narrow, so he erases it and tries again. “I got no clue, actually. I bet Gabe will.”

“Huh.”

“Why d’ya ask?” 

“Because I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at three and I wanted to know if I should stay to watch or skip out early.”

Bucky looks at Steve, frowning. He absently smacks his sketchpad with the eraser end of his pencil as he says, “Steve, even if I get somethin’, that’s no reason for you to skip out on a doctor’s visit. Those’re important.”

Steve shoots Bucky a look and says, “It’s just a checkup.”

“And this is just a dumb high school awards ceremony. No need to put much stock in it.” Bucky shrugs. As much as he wants to tell Steve that his health is way more important to Bucky than any of that other stuff, he doesn’t. They’ve been dating all of a two days and Bucky already knows that Steve’s health is a touchy subject. Turns him extra prickly – which Bucky shouldn’t find cute, but does.

“If you say so.” Steve looks a little downtrodden when he shrugs his curved shoulders right back. “Just want to support my guy.”

And how could Bucky _not_ smile at that? The cute, confident way Steve voices his possession. Bucky’s going to go ahead and list it down as one of his weaknesses. “Your guy, huh?”

Steve smiles the smile that means he’s trying not to and Bucky falls a little bit in love.

 

*

 

It turns out that Bucky does win an award – gets his name put on a banner (along with Gabe’s and Dum Dum’s) that’ll be hanging up in the gym forever and everything – but somebody puts the video up on the school’s website so Steve will be able to watch it anyway. All of the varsity boys get new letterman jackets proclaiming their undefeated record on a patch, and Morita’s already talking about how his mom is going to want to make patches for their little crew.

Off-season practice is cut short enough that Bucky gets home before Steve’s even finished with his doctor’s appointment. Bucky knocks out all of his homework before it’s even dinnertime and so he texts Steve: _Wanna hang out tonight? We all usually head to Gabe’s. I could pick you up?_

There’s a lull, where Bucky grabs a pair of PB&Js, before Steve responds: _Sorry, I was showering. Yeah? Aunt Liza doesn’t believe I actually have friends other than Peggy and Natasha so she might want to meet you. If that’s okay._

Though panic washes through him, Bucky swallows it because he wants to see Steve and if this is how it has to happen, then so be it. He shoots back: _Sure! When do you want me?_

The response is practically immediate: _Anytime is good. All I’m doing now is eating dinner._

_What’s for dinner? A bean?_

Steve texts back with a picture – it’s a selfie of him bringing a spoonful of _yep_ , black beans up to his mouth, an obvious, “Fuck off,” in his eyes. Bucky doesn’t even bother responding, opting to toe on his shoes and tell his dad that he’s heading out and not to wait up, ignoring the quip about condoms that his dad shouts out the door behind him.

It’s pretty easy to remember the route to Steve’s place across town and Bucky only lets himself freak out with his head against the steering wheel for a few minutes. 

Then he gets a text that says: _Stop freaking out and come inside. It’s #569._

And, okay. Bucky can do that. He can follow orders.

His hands are only shaking a little bit whenever he rings the doorbell, stepping back so that he’s visible through the peephole. The door swings open a few seconds later, and a redheaded woman with bright blue eyes and skin as pale as alabaster opens the door. She’s got pretty little laugh lines, a wide smile and she’s wearing dark green scrubs.

“You must be Bucky,” she says, offering her hand to shake. Bucky takes it and then she steps aside, gesturing for him to come inside. “Star football player, right? Steve’s told me a lot about you. Are you hungry? I made extra soup if you’d like some.”

“No thank you, Ms. Rogers. I already ate supper.” 

She shrugs, as if to say, “Your loss,” and then shouts, “Steve, Bucky’s here!”

Bucky’s pretty sure he just beat his standing vertical jump record. She’s got a set of _pipes_.

“And you can call me Liza, honey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. Ears perked, Bucky hears a door open and then the friction of socks on carpet before Steve finally makes an appearance. His hair is still dark with moisture from the shower and his eyes are clear, his face bare of glasses. Bucky swallows.

Quietly, Steve says, “Hey,” and sidles up next to where Bucky’s standing awkwardly in their kitchen across from Liza who’s fixing herself a thermos. Even through the layers of shirts and a vintage-looking HARVARD emblazoned sweatshirt, Steve’s hip is bony as hell when it knocks against Bucky’s leg. And that only serves to remind Bucky just how tiny his fella is – Steve only comes up to Bucky’s chin. He’s the perfect height for Bucky to sling an arm around his shoulder and tug him in close. 

Liza doesn’t stick around too long, heading out for a night shift at the hospital with a, “Lock up if you leave,” and a wink.

“So,” Steve says, hunching his shoulders. “This is where I live.”

“C’mon, Rogers,” Bucky says, tossing his arm around Steve’s shoulder. He presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s head. “Show me around.”

Steve huffs a tiny sound and, reluctantly pleased, and leads Bucky throughout the apartment. Past the kitchen is the living room that opens to a balcony with a pair of wrought iron chairs sidled up to a table with a fern as the centerpiece. There are pictures, framed and unframed, of Steve (who was an incredibly tiny tiny _tiny_ child with a hilarious bowl cut for a couple of years) and Liza, a pair of people who must’ve been Steve’s parents including the woman from Steve’s sketchpad, and then quite a few of Steve and Peggy Carter.

“Over there’s Aunt Liza’s room,” Steve says, gesturing to the right hall as he turns to lead the way down the left. “That’s the studio-library-ruckus room.” 

The door is open enough for Bucky to see shelves upon shelves of books lining one wall, and against another is a desk holding Steve’s backpack in front of the window with a ton of canvases stacked against it. 

“And here’s my room.” 

Steve pushes the door open and Bucky immediately grins. It looks like, smells like, and perfectly encapsulates the very core of his little Stevie Rogers. One wall is covered with pin boards, photos and drawings alike. There are posters and paintings everywhere, bands and vintage war time ads and surrealist sceneries. His bed is along the far wall, smaller than Bucky’s, but the blankets look comfortably rucked up. Opposite that is a TV with movies stacked neatly inside the entertainment center it rests on and beside that is a bookshelf with all kinds of knickknacks on top.

Everything about the room looks cozy as hell.

Bucky kind of never wants to leave.

Clearing his throat, Steve asks, “What time does Gabe want us over?”

Bucky shrugs. “He never really says. He’ll either text or send a Snapchat or somethin’ once he’s ready.”

“Okay. Well, we can hang out here for a while then.” Steve flops back onto his bed and Bucky watches the movement, the way his shirts ride up to reveal just a little bit of belly skin. He’s pale and smooth and Bucky wants to – he’s seriously caught with the way he wants to just kneel up between his legs and just _rest his face there_ , which he figures is kind of a strange thought, but he nearly staggers under the weight of how much he suddenly wants it. 

He must make a sound because then Steve’s sitting up, looking at him expectantly.

“How’d your doctor’s appointment go?” Bucky asks, still hovering awkwardly just inside the door, hoping that his question will cover up the naked want he’s feeling. But then again, Steve’s not wearing his glasses, so maybe he won’t be able to tell regardless.

“Healthy as I’ll ever be.” Steve eyes Bucky for a second and then says, “Come here.”

Stilted, stuttering steps carry Bucky over to the bed. He stands beside it, right in front of Steve who looks up at him with teeth gnawing at his lower lip. There’s nothing hesitant about his facial expression. It’s all confidence and want and it makes Bucky’s throat ache. Steve reaches up and twines a hand in the front of Bucky’s sweater. 

Without saying a word, Bucky bends and kisses Steve. Steve’s fist pulls tighter and Bucky’s overbalancing, bracing one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other on the mattress. But Steve works with it, using Bucky’s momentum to lay him out on the bed.

When Steve pulls back, his eyes are dancing. He says, voice rumbling, “Kinda wanna get my hands all over you, Buck.”

Bucky swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, nodding over and over at Steve’s look, “Yeah. That’s a great plan.” He wants to kiss, he wants to touch, he wants to do whatever Steve wants. “Whatever you want.”

“Good,” Steve says, smirking before he leans in to taste Bucky’s shiver. He nudges at Bucky’s shoulder until he’s pressed against the mattress, rolling smoothly on top so that he’s straddling Bucky’s hips. “This okay?”

All Bucky can do is nod. Enthusiastically.

Laughing, Steve runs his hands up over Bucky’s sweater, the pressure of his hands leaving prickling heat in their wake. Bucky’s still wearing his coat and his boots, for Christ’s sake, and he’s already starting to sweat at just the sight of Steve. At this rate, the sound and feel is going to physically kill him. He’s going to have a heatstroke and die. “Uh, wait,” Bucky says shakily, “Can I take off my coat?”

Sitting up just enough to allow Bucky the range of motion, Steve takes the coat once Bucky has shrugged his way out of it and then tosses it in the direction of the door. It lands on a pile of Steve’s shoes. “Better?” Steve asks.

After he toes off his boots, Bucky smiles up at Steve and says, “Much better.”

Steve takes that as permission and shoves at Bucky’s shoulders until his head is nested in the rucked up blankets. “Good. Now kiss me.”

And what else can Bucky do but comply? Reaching up to cradle Steve’s cheek, Bucky leans in and kisses Steve’s lower lip. It always looks red, plush, bitten. He nibbles at it, just the lightest of pressure, before he coaxes Steve into a gentle kiss, hand sliding down Steve’s back to rest on his hip. _Jesus_ , he’s so – he’s everything Bucky has wanted and now that he’s finally getting to kiss him, he never really wants to stop. He just wants Steve to feel the same. 

Bucky takes things slowly. Kissing is something that he’s been told he’s _really_ good at. He likes to start off teasing, testing the waters before jumping in full throttle. It’s always fun to just kiss and touch light as can be for as long as possible, just to see how long it’ll take until either he or his partner is squirming for more.

It’s clear that Steve is at that point, clearly a little more impatient than Bucky, at least if the way his lips part and the way he makes a soft, unbidden noise into Bucky’s mouth is any indication. As the kiss deepens, Steve’s arms bump against Bucky’s and then his chilly fingers are pushing up beneath Bucky’s sweater, making Bucky’s stomach muscles twitch. The next noise Steve makes is _pleased_ , like this is all he’s ever wanted and he’s glad he’s finally getting it, like Bucky’s body is perfect. Pleasure flushes up through Bucky.

“Some killer abs you got there, Buck,” Steve says, smiling against Bucky’s mouth as his fingers trail up over the ridges. In return, Bucky thumbs at Steve’s prominent hipbones where the skin is thin and warm and he knows that his fingers move just a _touch_ too softly when Steve jolts and laughs. “Tickles,” he explains.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs, lifting a hand to thumb at Steve’s cheek.

He kisses Bucky again, deeper and faster.

Bucky groans and Steve’s thighs tighten; it’s just like how it’d been in Bucky’s car, hot and heavy and fast, only now they actually have some room to maneuver. The thing is, Bucky just wants to go where Steve is and he only wants what Steve wants, so he keeps his reciprocating touches passive, letting Steve set the pace and guide him along. It’s so easy to follow Steve’s lead – at least up until the moment that Steve starts a slow, sweet grind over Bucky’s lap.

“Oh, _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, only it’s more like a prayer, like he’s pleading with the way it bursts out of him. 

The way Steve pulls back and looks at Bucky, innocent expression as ever on those delicate features, and _keeps grinding_ has Bucky clutching at him tighter. 

“Tell me what you want, Buck,” Steve says. Only, it’s an order, gentle as it may sound.

“Jus’ wanna touch ya,” he half-slurs, drunk off of Steve’s lips and the heady, heavy look in his eye. He never stops moving and Bucky can hardly stand it. “I’m so fuckin’ lucky. Dunno what I did to deserve you. Please?”

Steve’s nostrils flare a bit with the breath he sucks in and then he’s saying, “Since you asked so nicely. Always so polite, Bucky. You’re so –” His hips hitch a little harder, squirming over Bucky’s lap like he can’t help himself.

“ _Please_ ,” Bucky breathes. _Say it, say it, say it_ , he prays.

“You’re so _good_ , Buck,” Steve finally says, so much heat in his eyes that Bucky has to close his eyes and shudder at the intensity. He doesn’t come – and it’s a near thing – but he does let out a sound that’s closer to a sob than anything else. “Shh, no. Hey, it’s okay. Look at me, yeah?”

Bucky does, and he’s so incredibly hard – hard as _hell_ – and all he wants to do is hold Steve by the hips and rut up into him until he dies a little bit. He whines, want caught in his throat behind all the panting he’s doing.

“That’s it. Here, sit up for me,” Steve coaxes, smiling and Bucky keeps his eyes on him as he complies. “Good. Want your shirt off?”

“Yeah.” If Bucky’s honest, he wants them both naked so they can press into each other and _feel_. But Steve didn’t ask that, so he keeps that desire to himself for the moment.

Steve’s hands slide up under Bucky’s sweater and undershirt. “Raise your arms for me.”

When he does and Steve strips him free and then just _looks_ at him, Bucky shivers. Steve tosses the shirts toward the end of the bed and then turns on him, eyeing over Bucky’s skin with a look that shows all of his satisfaction. Bucky preens a little under the scrutiny.

“You’re perfect, Buck.”

Again, Bucky shivers. And it isn’t the cold – because Steve’s place is definitely kept warmer than Bucky’s – but the way Steve’s voice slides over the syllables, deep and warm and _pleased_. Like – like Bucky _deserves_ him. “Look who’s talkin’.”

Laughing, Steve leans in and slings his arms around Bucky’s neck, pressing right up against his bare chest when he says, “Oh, yeah. Very funny,” and kisses him. The sweater Steve’s wearing is worn soft, and it feels great, but Bucky wants to know what Steve’s skin feels like.

Steve presses a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw, the dimple on his chin. Then he leans back and strips off his shirts and his sweater and – 

“Oh, _god_ , Stevie,” Bucky says reverently. Because Steve’s beautiful; he’s lean and flushed pink down to his belly button; it’s perfect, absolutely perfect, and – _oh, wow_. “Why didn’tcha tell me you have a tattoo?” It’s a tiny thing, the words ‘be good’ in someone’s cursive handwriting right over Steve’s ribs on the left side.

Before he can control himself, Bucky’s leaning in and pressing his lips to it, wrapping his arms low around Steve’s back. And _god_ , Steve’s skin is soft and sweet enough for Bucky to want to taste for ages. He trails kisses up from the tattoo to Steve’s nipple, giving a scrape with his teeth before he sucks at it. Vaguely, Bucky can hear Steve make a sharp, hungry sound. But then Steve’s hand is in his hair, tugging Bucky back by the bun, eyes so dark that the black of his pupils is nearly eclipsing the blue away, and then he’s leaning in so they can kiss again – and Bucky can’t complain for even a second, because he gets to feel Steve all pressed up against him. 

Steve kisses with lips and tongue and teeth, he moves over Bucky with jerky hitches of his hips, and he keeps that hand anchored in Bucky’s hair. When he gives a tug, Bucky whines into Steve’s mouth.

And then Steve’s leaning up, pinning Bucky with his eyes as he starts to unbutton and unzip Bucky’s pants. There’s no challenge in the look, but a question, an unvoiced, “Is this okay?” to which Bucky gives a nod. He’s pretty sure that he wheezes whenever Steve gets his hand inside and finally ( _finally_ ) around his dick. 

When he untucks Bucky’s dick from his pants, Steve groans and grinds against Bucky’s thighs. “Good god, you’re perfect all over,” he mutters. Firmly, Steve strokes a single finger up the length of Bucky’s dick, thumbing beneath the head when he finishes.

Flushing from the praise, Bucky rocks his hips as subtly as possible. “Kiss me, Steve. Please.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His fist curls around tight, jerking Bucky off with slow, teasing pumps in an echo of the way Bucky’d started off kissing him. With his other hand, he strokes up from Bucky’s cheek back into his hair, jostling more of it free from the bun as he grips and guides Bucky’s head to the side. It’s the perfect angle for Steve to lick into Bucky’s mouth.

Groaning, Bucky’s grips at Steve’s shoulders and spreads his legs. It squishes things up a bit – and Steve laughs and resituates, but then he’s kissing Bucky again, smiling into it. And it feels funny, so that sets Bucky to laughing, chagrined and giddy as he gives a bashful, “Sorry.”

Steve presses a kiss to his chin again. “’s okay.” The kisses trail down, alternating between lips and then tongue and then the firm scrape of teeth and Bucky _knows_ he’s panting and making all of these embarrassing sounds, but he can’t help it. Not with the way Steve’s rubbing up against him with all of that soft skin _and_ touching his dick. 

“Steve,” Bucky whines, “ _Steve_ , wanna touch you.” But Steve doesn’t seem to hear, too busy biting down _hard_ over Bucky’s chest. “ _Ah!_ ” Bucky grits his teeth and pants, hips arching so hard he nearly jostles Steve right off of him. The pressure releases and blood refills the skin where it’d been pinched off by Steve’s teeth, and Steve’s licking over it and Bucky can’t help but get a hand into Steve’s hair, torn between shoving him away and tugging him closer in the wake of the sting. He’s hitching his hips harder up against Steve, trying to still himself and failing spectacularly. “Steve, _Steve_ , please. Don’t wanna come ‘til I’ve gotten my hands on you.”

Sitting back on his haunches, Steve strokes at Bucky’s dick and eyes the mark he just left, voicing a whole-hearted, “ _Fuck._ ” Then his eyes trail up to Bucky’s and he must see the naked heat because then he’s leaning back and working at his own zip and fly – and then he’s _gone_ and Bucky’s whining, but – “Shh, I’m right here, hang on, I just gotta –”

When Steve sits back in Bucky’s lap, he’s completely naked. Bucky groans and rubs the line of his nose against Steve’s throat. All of his bare skin is right there for Bucky to touch, to see, to drink in because he’s thirsty all the way down to his soul. 

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky says, words he’s kept inside for far too long. 

“Says _you_ ,” Steve retorts, rolling his eyes. He slumps down over Bucky again, taking his mouth in another kiss before Bucky gets a chance to respond. Steve thumbs and pinches at one of Bucky’s nipples and bites down on his lower lip, dragging it down with his teeth before he –

“Oh, god,” Bucky blurts, breathing hard against Steve’s chin once he’s got their cocks lined up, grinding so sweet with the slow roll of his hips. “You feel so good. Feel – _f-fuck_ – fuckin’ perfect against me.”

Sweating, gritting his teeth, Bucky cranes his neck for more kisses and whines whenever Steve doesn’t indulge him, but pulls back, smirking as he stays just out of reach. And Bucky tries again, sitting up and leaning closer until Steve’s back is arched back and he’s only staying in Bucky’s lap by Bucky’s grip around his back and the grace of God. Steve only laughs, tossing his arms around Bucky’s neck and turning to nip at his ear. “Had to get you sitting up somehow.”

Bucky laughs. “Well, that definitely worked,” he says, shifting his hips. “All you had to do was say.” Somehow the words feel like a confession. That Bucky would do just about anything Steve wants, because Bucky _wants_ that. 

He wants to be good for Steve.

Steve tugs Bucky’s ear with his teeth and then finally shifts so they’re face-to-face. The look in his eye is – _God_ , Bucky can’t even _think_ with the way Steve’s looking at him. His breath is coming too quick and he tries to hide it by reaching between them to thumb at the head of Steve’s cock. Steve shifts around in Bucky’s lap, probably chafing against the denim still over Bucky’s thighs, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. Bucky’s been riding the edge of close for what feels like ages and he’s convinced that if he so much as thinks the word, he’ll come all over himself. 

But Steve just shifts until he’s nudged up against Bucky’s chest and they’re forehead to forehead, just as intimate as that first time. And then Steve’s saying, “Slide those down a bit,” and Bucky does and then he’s breathing out, “Kiss me,” and Bucky does and then he’s grumbling, “Come for me, Buck,” and _Bucky does_.

The feeling surges up through him and he’s throwing his head back, gasping out at the intensity, shaking and hitching his hips as he clutches at Steve and _comes_ – his cock pulsing hard, stripes slicking up the skin between them. He’s wrenching in air and riding out the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut against Steve’s neck as he shivers with aftershocks.

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Steve breathes, voice nearing a wheeze at the last word. “Fuck, Bucky, that was so hot – that was perfect, oh, my _God_.” He’s still rutting up against the arch of Bucky’s softening cock and his stomach, wet with his own release and the drip of Steve’s precome.

Bucky reaches down between them to stroke Steve, mouthing sloppily at his collarbone.

Steve makes a sharp noise and Bucky turns to look up at Steve. “ _Fuck_.”

“Want you’ta come on me, Steve,” Bucky slurs, pausing to swipe the tip of Steve’s cock through the mess of come before he works Steve’s dick as fast as his muzzy state will let him. “Wanna make you feel s’good.” But he wants that – wants Steve to mark him and mess him up and make him feel just as lost in it as he makes Bucky feel, like this is it, like this is everything, and – “Please,” Bucky whines. 

The noise Steve makes is straight from his chest, a deep groan that sends a wave of aftershocks sparking through Bucky. He watches, mesmerized as Steve’s cock twitches and pulses wet over his skin as his ass flexes against Bucky’s groin. And his face is just as good – that perfect little angel face as twisted up like he’s mad about how good it feels. Even as Steve comes down, heaving a great big gasp, his brows are furrowed, his eyes are squeezed shut, and the corners of his lips are tugged down in his trademark scowl.

Bucky kisses the side of Steve’s mouth, quick and soft and careful, waiting for Steve to catch his breath. 

Once he does, he slumps forward to rest against Bucky’s chest and the mess on his stomach, smearing it all up between them. Bucky pets over the sharp lines of Steve’s shoulder blades and holds Steve like it’s exactly why he was born.

And he honestly thinks he might be. His purpose in this world might just be to take care of Steve.

“You okay?” he asks when he feels Steve still trembling after a while. Thankfully, his breath is steady and clear.

“Yeah, ‘m jus’ cold.” 

Holding tightly to Steve’s shoulders, Bucky says, “Here, hang on,” as he rolls to the side. Surprised, Steve makes a sound against Bucky’s neck. Bucky tucks the warm, messy blankets up around Steve’s shoulders, draped so it’s not touching any semen. “Are there washcloths in your bathroom?” 

Blinking sleepily, smiling, Steve nods. “Through that door there.” And then, when Bucky returns and starts swiping at their messy stomachs, Steve’s looking at him with this naked adoration – blue eyes all big and shimmery as he says, “Thanks, Buck.”

Once they’re relatively clean, Bucky tucks himself back into his pants and Steve has him toss the dirtied rag into the hamper by his closet and then tugs him in close so that they’re all knotted up together like headphone cords. From an outside perspective it might look funny the way Bucky’s tucked up underneath Steve’s chin, being so much bigger than him, but to Bucky, it couldn’t feel any better.

At least, not until Steve lifts a shaky arm and asks, “Can I take this down?” fingering over Bucky’s sweat-damp hair.

Bucky nods. “Oh, yeah. You gonna rub my head?”

“Thought I just did,” Steve says, sly grin creeping up out of nowhere. Bucky barks a laugh and then buries his face against Steve’s flat chest. “Think it’ll make you act all funny again?”

“Mm, prob’ly,” Bucky slurs, still smiling against Steve’s skin. His chest flutters with anticipation the moment Steve tugs the hairband free and his hair tumbles down over his neck and face. He tries to blow it away, but really only succeeds in making Steve laugh and squirm away from the tickle – and then Bucky’s pressing his fingers into Steve’s sides, watching with delight as Steve honks a laugh and curls in on himself, shoving at Bucky’s hands. 

He’s laughing as he says, “Stop, _stop_ – ahah, _nooo!_ ” He heaves in a breath when Bucky pauses and wiggles his fingers, threatening to go again until Steve says, “ _Don’t_. Or no head rub.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says immediately, dropping his hands, “C’mon. I’ll be good. I’m sorry.” He tucks his head back under Steve’s chin and nuzzles in, brushing the tip of his nose against the line of Steve’s jaw. “Please.”

Sighing, acting all put upon, Steve says, “Fine,” and then, “You’d better behave.”

Bucky can feel his hand hovering, so close, but it doesn’t come down and so Bucky says, “I _will_. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Alright,” Steve acquiesces, and then – he _still_ doesn’t so much as brush Bucky’s hair back before he’s saying, “But first, I really do need some clothes, I’m fucking freezing. Then water and bathroom. Last time you were…I don’t know – out of it? – for a while and I want to make sure you’re comfortable. See how long it lasts.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, scooting away even as his chest gives a hitch, “I can do that. See? I’m good.”

Steve smiles, sweet as summer strawberries. “Course you are,” he says. 

Bucky shimmies out of bed and bends to toss the discarded clothes from the floor up onto the sheets. When Steve reaches for his underwear, tugging then up his skinny legs, Bucky has to fight the urge to say, “Wait!” because, for whatever reason, _he_ wants to be the one putting them on Steve. So instead, all he does is watch and hover and ask himself why he has all of these weird urges to do random things when he’s with Steve.

He comes up with approximately nothing.

“Water’s in the fridge,” Steve says.

And then, remembering himself, Bucky flushes and turns to venture out into the hallway, tracing a path back to the kitchen to retrieve two bottles from the top shelf before hightailing it back into Steve’s room. The light’s on in Steve’s bathroom, so Bucky sets both of the waters on the bedside table and perches on the end of Steve’s bed, back straight and hands resting on his thighs, waiting for him to return.

“That was quick,” Steve comments as he shuts the door behind himself. He shuffles over, tugging the ends of his sleeves over his hands before putting them on either of Bucky’s cheeks and leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“Top shelf,” Bucky says as Steve grabs one of the waters. “Only the best for my fella.”

Steve snorts as he uncaps it, taking a swig and then, like he’s realizing just how thirsty he is, starts gulping until about half the bottle is gone and he’s panting for breath. He wipes his mouth with his shirt sleeve and then eyes the unopened bottle. “Mm,” he hums, clearly remembering something, “I’m gonna grab my sketchpad. I’ll be right back. Why don’t you drink up? Bet you’re thirstier than you realize.”

Bucky wants to whine, but he quells the panic in his chest when Steve leaves by doing exactly what he said. It turns out that he is _goddamn parched_. When Steve comes back in to see Bucky chugging away at the bottle, plastic crinkling from the pressure. Steve tosses his sketchpad and a tin full of pencils on the bed, brushing the bare, over-sensitized skin of Bucky’s lower back as he passes.

Pulling his lips away from the bottle, Bucky pants and wipes away the moisture that dribbled down his chin. 

“Better?” Steve asks from the bed. It doesn’t so much as creak when he resituates, bouncing a little to get comfortable.

Nodding, Bucky caps the bottle and sets it back down on the nightstand before sliding to lie on top of the covers beside Steve’s blanketed lower half. He looks up, making his widest, most innocent eyes coupled with a charming grin and then asks, “C’n I have a magic head rub now?”

Without a word, Steve threads his fingers of his left hand into Bucky’s hair, working from the roots to the ends just above Bucky’s ear. Bucky makes a noise before he can help himself, nuzzling closer against Steve’s thigh. He hears Steve chuckle and then there’s a little more pressure tracing over toward the nape of his neck. 

“Feel good?” Steve asks.

Nodding, Bucky curls his hand around Steve’s thigh and noses at the line of Steve’s hip. “Feels real fuckin’ good,” he says, blinking his eyes open up at Steve. And Bucky hadn’t realized his eyes were closed, but now it doesn’t really matter. He knows Steve’s looking down at him like he’s all amused and Bucky really can’t complain because Steve doesn’t stop running his fingers through his hair.

“I really like this,” Steve mumbles.

His words pulse against Bucky’s closed eyelids, gold and warm and soft, and Bucky can’t get close enough.

“You’re so sweet like this, Buck.” His fingers card through, steady and slow and soothing. “Turns you into a cat. Think you can purr?”

Bucky hums, and shifts, nosing his way up under Steve’s shirts so he can touch some bare skin. 

Steve laughs. “That’s pretty close. Very good.” 

From there Bucky can feel himself drifting. He knows he’s not technically asleep because he can still hear Steve’s voice every now and then, lilting with praise and warm with affection. Sometimes he’ll pause, too caught up with the drawing he’s doing with his other hand, but Bucky’ll nose against his hip or tighten his grip on Steve’s thigh and it’ll quickly resume. All the tension that Bucky usually carries, in his shoulders, his back, his stomach, dissipates and he feels, all at once, that nothing really matters and that everything that _does_ matter is right here. So he doesn’t need to worry. Because Steve can take care of it and if not, then he’ll tell Bucky how. 

“Tell me how you feel.”

Bucky registers the command. It might’ve been a question before that, but it’s too hard to think. He can’t really parse through all of the flitting thoughts as they come and go faster than he can reach and grab and hold. But it’s easier when the choice is taken from him, when he’s only given parameters to work with, and he can slur out, “Good,” and get petted for it in return. Dazed and happy, Bucky keeps nosing against Steve’s skin and wraps all of his limbs around Steve’s left leg. It’s almost too difficult of a feat to manage, but Steve doesn’t resist and he doesn’t stop petting Bucky, so it feels as though each little bit of progress he makes is worthy of a reward. 

There might be more words from Steve, more praises or questions or commands, but Bucky slips down into this bubbly fog where all he can feel is Steve’s hand in his hair and the swirl of pleasure tumbling through him. It might last for minutes or it might last for hours – and Bucky doesn’t even remember why that’d be a bad thing. He can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t just stay here, safe and warm, cuddled up against Steve.

It’s the best thing in the world.

His chest feels too full. It’s full of light and air and the golden warmth of Steve’s smile, the blue of his patient gaze. 

It feels like swimming through clouds, sun shining on his face and warming Bucky from the toes up. Sometimes it feels like he sinks back down, hears more of what’s going on in reality than in this perfect place where there’s only comfort and safety.

Bucky hasn’t been drunk before – sure, he’s had his share of lukewarm beer at the occasional house party courtesy of Howard Stark. He never lets himself have more than one, never letting himself step outside of the bounds of his own control because he’s too worried about making sure that the fellas are all okay, that nobody’s doing anything too stupid. Aside from that, there was that one time that his dad’s firm completed that big project in downtown Boston when Bucky’d just turned sixteen. _This_ is sort of like how that had been. Champagne. Light and gold and bubbly. It’d been all too easy to snatch a flute from a passing tray, downing it in gulps instead of the sips he’d seen the adults taking. Becca had been at his elbow, smacking him for a taste. They’d stolen one more after that, sharing them over delighted giggles and hiding from their parents, fuzzy and sharp all at once. 

Here, with Steve, Bucky feels perfectly fine to let himself float through the sensations unfettered. He thinks, dark wisps in the back of his mind, that maybe this should scare him. 

But it doesn’t.

It feels different when Steve’s fingers move from his hair to his cheek and temple, brushing the hair back and petting over his face. Still, it’s warm and lazy and Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever want to let go of this feeling, even when it shifts from gold to blue and Steve’s voice is prickling at the colors as he’s saying, “Come on, Bucky, it’s okay, I’m right here, you can come.”

There are stuttered gasps stuck in his chest, released when the tension in his head goes lax and he bursts even higher above the clouds. It feels like he’s the sun. And if he’s not the sun, then he’s Icarus, singeing his feathers, melting the wax, and falling falling falling back down into the cradle of the sea, Steve’s eyes and voice and coaxing and gentle and patient. He drowns.

“That was so good, Buck – it was incredible. You’re so good for me.” 

Pride is audible, sparks of gold in the blue and dancing along Bucky’s cheeks and chin and chest. 

“You make me so happy.”

It swells up and bursts, raining warm, soft touch and gentle tones. Bucky doesn’t know how to catalogue his thoughts, reduced to a simmer of sensations and the present. He wants to tell Steve that _he_ makes him happy. That Steve takes the stress and anxiety and tucks it down, not hidden, but makes it manageable. 

Bucky feels his throat work, his eyelashes flutter together and apart. He wants to see Steve. He wants to tell him.

“Take your time. Come back when you’re ready. I’m right here.”

With a breath, Bucky tilts his head back into the curve of Steve’s palm and waits. Steve’s hand drifts down to his neck, a thumb very gentle pressure behind his ear and down his jaw. Its ridges catch on haphazard stubble.

Words string together, looking less like ribbons and more like letters and Bucky tries to grasp at them, clutch them between his fingers and swallow them whole. The first thing he manages is, “Steve.”

“Bucky, hey,” Steve says, “You back with me?”

More of the world swims into focus. He sees Steve’s face – the strong nose dusted with freckles, splotchy pink cheeks, clear blue eyes. “Angel,” Bucky says. Steve laughs, confused and a little unsure until Bucky nuzzles their noses together and says again, “Angel, Steve.”

Steve says, “Okay, okay.” His smile is crooked, tiny like a secret. Bucky loves it. 

Pressing forward, Bucky purses his lips and presses them softly to Steve’s. Slowly, very _very_ slowly, Bucky’s able to find his limbs. He registers Steve’s leg hitched over his hip, Steve’s arm resting against his shoulder, Steve’s hand curled against his chest. Their kisses are molasses slow, just as thick with sweetness and affection.

“Steve,” he says, smiling and blinking heavily. “Hi.”

“Yeah, hiya, pal.” Steve’s voice is amused. Bucky doesn’t see any colors, just the warmth and genuine fondness. “Still seein’ angels?”

“Mhm. Jus’ you,” Bucky answers muzzily, honest as hell. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, shifting closer, becoming aware of the tackiness in his pants. Frowning, Bucky looks down between them and sees the darker splotches creased up along his crotch. “Wha…”

Steve’s hand is on his chin. “Bucky, you shoulda seen it. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“When?” he asks, because he remembers feeling warm and safe. He remembers Steve’s voice. He remembers vague impressions and the champagne bubbles in his chest. He doesn’t remember getting hard, let alone coming.

“’Bout an hour ago,” Steve answers between the kisses he presses to Bucky’s face. “I know it’s probably uncomfortable; didn’t wanna leave you when you were like that.” He squirms against Bucky, shifting restlessly and _yeah_ , Steve’s hard again. 

Bucky flushes with pride. “W’s I good?”

“ _So_ good, Bucky,” Steve enthuses, “The best damn thing that’s – ever happened to me.”

Steve’s pupils are blown and Bucky feels like he’s drowning again, remembering with sudden clarity how he was Icarus, how Steve’s the sun. Bucky clutches tighter, trying to squirm back against Steve, giving him something to really rut against through the blanket and all even while coordination is still truly beyond his present capabilities. He wants to reach between them, but he can’t; this is the best he has to offer for now. He loves the way it makes Steve groan deep in his throat, eyes pinching shut as he presses his forehead to Bucky’s and twines his fist up in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky wants to ask about a million questions, say about a million things, but all he can get out is, “Good?” 

Nodding, Steve tilts his head enough to press another kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah,” he says, voice hitching on a pitchy laugh, “So good ’m gonna come.” His next exhale is wheezy against Bucky’s chin. “’m gonna come. Fuck, _fuck_ – Bucky –”

Watching Steve come is better than anything Bucky’s ever felt. The way his eyebrows pinch together and his nose scrunches and his mouth drops open – it’s like seeing the face of God, the closest Bucky’ll ever get to finding religion. Bucky whines and hitches against the blooming matching stain in Steve’s pants, trying to coax him the rest of the way through it. 

“Oh, god,” Steve wheezes. His next inhale is too short, panicked.

It’s dangerous – Bucky reacts. Before he knows it, he’s reaching out for the nightstand with an arm that doesn’t feel like his own, grabbing the inhaler, pressing it to Steve’s hand. He watches Steve take a huff, then another. 

It takes a minute where Bucky just presses his head against Steve’s hip, looking up at his face and laying on hand flat against his chest to make sure that it’s still rising and falling, but eventually Steve gives a short, humorless laugh and says, “How romantic.”

Bucky just taps his finger against Steve’s chest and smiles up at him. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve says quietly. His hand comes down and pets over Bucky’s head just once, cradling his face with a thumb swiping over his cheek. “Thanks.” He grabs Bucky’s wrist, bringing his hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against his palm. 

After a few seconds, Steve snorts and buries his face against Bucky’s hand.

“Hmm?” Bucky asks, shadow of a smile stretching his lips.

“Got all messy anyway. Kinda thought we’d avoided that when we’d got naked earlier.” Steve tugs at Bucky’s wrist until his arm is slung over Steve’s middle the way it had been earlier. “Also, I’m pretty sure your phone went off earlier, but you were, uh…pretty deep.”

_Deep. Out of it._ Bucky wishes there were a word in, hell, _any_ language to describe what it’s like to be at the mercy of Steve’s magic fingers, cradled against his body, completely vulnerable, but safe and wholly trusting. 

“You want me to get it for you?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head, clutching a little tighter at Steve’s waist. “Don’ wan’ move yet.”

“Alright,” Steve allows. He licks his lips, brows pinching together the slightest bit before he eyes Bucky’s face and says slowly, “When you’re ready, we’re going to get cleaned up and then you’re going to take a look at your phone. If you need my help answering, just let me know. Okay?”

Nodding, biting down on the hitch in his breath, Bucky says, “’Kay.” His voice is tight and he knows there’s heat in his eyes.

Audibly, Steve swallows. His eyes flicker from Bucky’s mouth to his eyes, the hesitation in his tone making, “You really do like it when I tell you what to do?” sound more like a question than a statement. 

Bucky gives a shrug, smushed up against Steve’s stomach. “Yeah. ’s easier.” He doesn’t really know how to get into the whole, ‘I worry about _everything_ and _constantly_ , but when you tell me to do things, all I have to worry about is making you happy,’ thing. He knows it’s probably not normal, and he knows Steve probably wouldn’t care, but right now all he can really do is focus on Steve’s body beneath him, his face above him, and parsing through the muzziness in his head to make his mouth work even just a little bit.

After a sigh, Bucky starts to sit up. His hair tickles at his nose and he swipes it away. He hears Steve giggle. 

When he turns to look, Steve’s covering his face with his hands. Bucky leans in, grasping loosely around Steve’s wrist to tug his hands away. “What?” he asks.

Darting forward, Steve presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s mouth, just off-center. “You’re really cute like this.”

Bucky’s chest lights up at the praise but he doesn’t say anything in return. Steve hadn’t asked a question, after all. With a soft smile, Bucky leans in for one more kiss before he manages to scoot away, off the bed to stand beside it, offering a hand to help Steve up too. 

It takes a little elbow grease, but Bucky manages to help Steve clean the worst of the stains from their pants and when they’re back on the bed, Steve futzing around with his own phone, Bucky tries to get his eyes to focus enough to be able to read the screen. 

“’s it really after midnight?” Bucky asks, voice a little shrill. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, tossing his phone down beside the pillow. “Gonna turn into a pumpkin?”

“Car might, yeah.” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to parse through the text messages – of which there are _over one hundred_ – to figure out how he’s going to apologize for dropping off the face of the earth. There’s not really a way to tell them what they were up to without making them sound like a couple of horny skeezebags, so Bucky holds his phone out to Steve. “I dunno what to say.”

He watches Steve squint down at the screen, mouthing along with the words he’s reading. “Good _lord_ ,” he says, raising a brow at Bucky, “I heard your phone going off but I didn’t think – that’s a lot. But um. I can tell them that you came over and you’re not feeling well?”

“No,” Bucky says, “’cause then they’ll bring soup and stuff tomorrow.”  
Steve’s expression softens and then he says, “Well. I can tell ‘em that you fell asleep over here? That’s pretty close to the truth, apart from the fact that you were awake, just really freakin’ out of it.”

Humming softly, Bucky turns his head and presses a kiss to Steve’s chest over his sweater. “Can’t help it. Y’got magic fingers, Stevie.” 

They figure out a way to make it sound like they _weren’t_ having sex and then Bucky’s standing, gathering his boots and coat and looking mournfully at Steve as he laces them up. But Steve just kisses him and tells him to text when he’s home safely and not to feel guilty because he can make it up to the fellas tomorrow. After one last, lingering hug, Bucky sighs and heads out.

Bucky rides the high of being with Steve the whole way home. His mom is finally back from her business trip and she’s passed out on the couch with Dad when Bucky looks in on them, some shitty _Lifetime_ movie playing quietly on the television. He waves to his dad and then shuffles off to his room, grateful that he’s not going to have to try to make conversation in his current state.

He texts Steve: _Home safe!_ and gets a: _Good. Get some sleep and text me when you wake up._ in response. It takes almost no effort for Bucky to drop into sleep.


	5. the letterman jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit is fuzzy and weird; his body’s achy in way that makes him feel like he didn’t stop moving all night, restless like he’d been sleepwalking again. Or like he’s hungover, even though he sure as hell didn’t touch a drop of alcohol the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, my friends. This chapter kicked my ass. Considering it's about 10K, I hope you'll excuse the lateness. Unbeta'd. Check the tags for updates!
> 
> ALSO: thanks for all of the really lovely comments, everyone. I'm sorry I'm awful at replying!
> 
> **ETA 1/11/2015:** It has been [brought to my attention](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/21694550) that I used a term in this chapter with racist connotations. While I never intended to cause offense, ignorance is no excuse. Please, educate yourselves [here](http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2013/12/30/242429836/why-being-gypped-hurts-the-roma-more-than-it-hurts-you). As a POC, I should definitely be more aware of the issues such as these. I, sincerely, apologize profusely.

“Bucky?”

Jolting upright, Bucky’s head swims as he tries to focus on the separation between reality and the Dreamland his mind and body tell him to cling to. Shit is fuzzy and weird; his body’s achy in way that makes him feel like he didn’t stop moving all night, restless like he’d been sleepwalking again. Or like he’s hungover, even though he sure as hell didn’t touch a drop of alcohol the night before. 

“James Buchanan, if you don’t answer me in two seconds, I’m going to bust in there. Don’t think I won’t.”

Sighing, Bucky shoves knotted hair out of his eyes and gravels out, “I’m up, Ma!” and then, “ _Jesus_ ,” under his breath.

“Good,” comes her voice, a tinge of annoyance apparent, through the door, “Then bring your laundry down before I have to kick your tail end.”

“ _’Kay._ ” 

Scrubbing his hands over his eyes, Bucky grumbles and then rolls out of bed, walks stiffly to the bathroom and then shuffles down to the laundry room with his hamper and a frown etched on his sleepy face. His mom’s nowhere to be seen though, so Bucky shuffles back to his room and hops in the shower to hopefully alleviate his weirdly sore muscles. 

It feels like he got tackled by Dum Dum, full on, no pads, about sixty times in a row.

The shower does wonders for Bucky’s muscles but nothing for his mood. Except for when he gets out, smears his palm against the fogged over mirror and sees the purplish red bruise bloomed over his chest in the shape of Steve’s teeth. It makes him shiver, remembering the look in Steve’s eyes and –

_Steve_.

Bucky slips on underwear and jeans, a t-shirt slung over his shoulder as he nabs his phone from his bed and types out a message: _I am really grumpy and sore and I miss you._

_Good morning to you too. Take a shower for the soreness?_

Sighing, feeling a little bit better already, just with the knowledge that Steve is awake and not taking any of Bucky’s shit. He sends back: _I already did._

_Hmm. Didn’t I tell you to text me when you woke up?_

Stomach dropping, Bucky’s knees nearly give out and he has to slowly lower himself to his bed. “Shit,” he mutters, “ _Shit_.” He sends: _Oh god I’m sorry_. 

It dissipates and morphs into _acute goddamn arousal_ when Steve sends back: _Might have to spank you for that_. 

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Bucky breathes, sweat prickling all along his hairline. That’s not even – Steve wouldn’t – Bucky deserves it, but –

_Just kidding ;)_

Bucky sends back: _Um_. He’s not quite sure what he wants, but if Steve thinks he needs to be spanked – “Oh, _God_.” – then Bucky will gladly stretch himself across Steve’s lap, pants tugged down just below his ass, maybe, just enough for Steve to palm for a minute, maybe warm him up. Then there’d be the contact, the sharp sting and the wake of blood rushing back into the capillaries – just like the bite Steve laid into Bucky’s chest. Maybe he’d make Bucky count them out for him, a swat for every minute he was awake without letting Steve know. But Steve’s not mean or malicious, he’d soothe over the burning skin with his hands, warmed from the contact, and maybe with his mouth too.

_Good um or bad um?_

And _hell_ , Bucky doesn’t _know_. Mostly, he just wonders if Steve would play with his hair afterward and tell him how good he is – and _that_ is what cinches the deal for him. He sends back: _Good um? I think. Pretty sure._

Not even a minute later he gets back: _We should probably talk more about this later. When I’m not in public._

“ _Bucky!_ ”

 

*

 

“So what’d you do while I was gone, Bucky?”

Quelling a blush, Bucky plucks another piece of bacon from the pile and regards his mother with the most innocent look he can muster. But then his dad’s saying, “He got a new boyfriend,” before Bucky can actually answer for himself. 

Winnie Barnes regards him with a raised eyebrow, the corner of her mouth pursed as she says, “Oh really? I thought after – oh what’s his name?”

“Howard,” Dad helpfully supplies.

“Yeah, _Howard_. I thought you swore off of dating until after high school?”

Giving a shrug, Bucky twirls the bacon and then lets it fall back onto the pile. “I changed my mind,” he says quietly. “Plus, I mean if you saw ‘im, you’d get it.”

Ma hums, still smirking like she’s all delighted. “So then what’s his name? Tell me all about him.”

Wetting his lips, Bucky shifts in his seat and feels himself start to smile before he even says a word. “His name’s Steve, Ma. He’s this tiny little thing – blonde hair, blue eyes, looks like an angel. He’s real talented, too; draws like nothin’ else I’ve ever _seen_. You shoulda seen this one he did’a me in art class – that time we all had to take turns posin’ for quick sketches. It looked just like me; I couldn’t believe it.” Bucky realizes he’s gushing, but he can’t quite seem to put a lid on it. “Oh! _And_ he’s givin’ Howard Stark a run for his money on valedictorian so he’s crazy smart.”

“Is this the young man who left his hat in your car?”

“Yeah!” Bucky says, still grinning, “That’s him.”

Turning to George, Winnie says, “You owe me ten bucks,” and then she takes a massive bite of her omelet doused in Sriracha. “Kiddo, that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile all day. Must be too old to be happy when your one and only darling mother returns from a treacherous journey –”

“Ma, you only went to Manhattan –“

“Gone for _four whole days_ and all I get is a grumpy –”

“Ma, _noooo_ ,” Bucky says, getting up from the table, rounding it just to hug his ma’s neck and smack kisses against her cheek, “I’m sorry!”

Finally a tiny smile slips onto her face in favor of the fake tears and she shoves him off, saying, “Quit making a scene, Bucky, sheesh.” She turns to the people at the next table to apologize for her “obnoxious progeny” which only serves to make Bucky’s face flare red and for him to shoot his mother a wide-eyed look that says, “Please please please stop, oh my God.” They end up finishing their breakfasts in a slightly more subtle manner, no longer making scenes or bothering the other IHOP patrons – which is really only that other table plus one guy sitting by himself on the other side of the restaurant.

In the car, Bucky’s phone buzzes and it’s Gabe, asking Bucky if Steve’s going to be hanging out with them later on (because if he is, then Gabe said he’ll try to make something – which means he’ll make his _mom_ make something – that Steve can eat without having any problems) so Bucky shoots a quick text to him and waits patiently for a response. That comes in the form of a phone call just as soon as they pull up to the house.

“Hello?” Bucky answers quietly, hoping to skirt his parents before they start in on the teasing. Sometimes they can be worse than the fellas. As he makes his way inside, he hears his ma stage whisper, “Do you think that’s him?” with what is probably a massive grin on her face and then – just when Bucky thinks he’s cleared it into the house with zero interference – his ma comes up beside him and shouts into the phone, “Hi, Steve!”

Steve’s laugh rings, deep and amused. “Was that your mom?” he asks Bucky. “If so, tell her hi for me, yeah?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky says, “Steve says hi,” and then hightails it to his room before his ma tries to take the phone from him and do something way too forward like invite Steve over for dinner tomorrow night. Closing his door behind himself, Bucky lets out a breath, feeling truly calm for the first time all day. “Hiya, Stevie.”

“Hi. Sounds like you told her about me.” The only way Bucky can really describe Steve’s voice is tender. 

Smiling reflexively, Bucky says, “Uh, yeah. But that ain’t why I texted?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, no,” he says, flopping down onto his bed, “Actually, Gabe wanted to know if you were comin’ tonight…”

Bucky doesn’t really realize the way that sounds until Steve rebuffs with, “As much as I’d love to…” accompanied by a lengthy pause where it’s obvious he’s waiting for Bucky’s gears to turn. It’s only when Bucky snorts and says, “ _Steve_ ,” that he chuckles to himself and then says, “Peggy and Nat usually come over on Saturdays. Kind of a ‘catch up’ thing since I hardly get to see them at school anymore. Think we’re gonna make cookies tonight, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Bucky…”

“It’s just – I thought you said we were gonna make it up to the fellas – y’know, after last night…”

“Technically, I said ‘you,’ Buck, not ‘we.’”

Letting his mind drift back through what he _can_ remember, as fuzzy as it may be, Bucky recalls that Steve _didn’t_ say ‘we’ and he deflates a bit.

“Besides,” Steve continues, “I don’t know if your friends really want me intruding like that. This is something you guys have done since forever. They might want you all to themselves again.”

Sighing, Bucky concedes, “Fine.” He’s a little more hesitant, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice when he casually asks, “Sure ya don’t wanna come with me?”

After giving a sigh, Steve says down the line, “Can’t. The girls would probably kill me if I ditched out on ‘em.” 

Bucky doesn’t doubt that for a second. “Yeah, okay. Well, tell ‘em I said hey – and save some cookies for me!”

Steve’s voice is fond, full with quelled laughter when he says, “You got it, pal.”

After they hang up, Bucky shoots Gabe a text and says bye to his parents before he finally heads out. It’s only been two days, but the fellas act like it’s been months since they last saw him – no doubt trying to make him feel guilty about skipping out on them last night. They’re all a bunch of assholes, though, so Bucky tries not to let it get to him, especially not when Steve’s already told him he shouldn’t sweat it. But it does anyway, so he spends the whole night fully engaged in their Netflix marathon (because finding the shittiest movie possible is a competition that they all take _very_ seriously). 

Throughout the night, Bucky snaps pictures and sends them to Steve without captions, letting him in on what exactly he’s missing out on while Steve does the same in return. There’s one, though, of Natasha and Peggy looking all dopey-eyed at one another, flour smeared on their cheeks and Bucky’s heart gives a thump. He sends to Steve: _Wow, you should get that one framed_.

Not even a minute later, Steve returns: _Ya know, I was thinking the same exact thing. Nat’s birthday is coming up after all._

Bucky jokes: _Go ahead, tell me I’m brilliant._

When Steve texts back: _You’re incredible, Buck_. Bucky flushes head-to-toe with pride and smiles like a goof down at his phone until Falsworth and Morita start poking fun at him. And then they turn on him, a pack of rabid, curious dogs.

“So,” Morita says casually, “You and Steve looked real cozy at lunch.”

“Yeah, you two done anything yet?” Falsworth follows up, a sly smirk on his face.

Then it’s a chorus of, “Yeah, Bucky – spill!” and Bucky’s covering up his face, trying to stop himself from smiling and feeling like a complete ass. They’d all already done this to Dum Dum earlier, himself included, so Bucky really shouldn’t have expected anything different. His friends are definitely an equal opportunity bunch.

“It’s been all of a week, fellas,” Bucky pleads.

“That didn’t stop Dugan over there,” Gabe counters, eyes about as bright as his smile.

Dum Dum cracks a laugh. “Y’got that right!”

Though Bucky wouldn’t go repeating things like this to anyone else, apparently Dum Dum is quite proficient at oral with the ladies. So much so that Lakshmi even returned the favor – _and_ got herself off again while she was at it. To say the least, the fellas are all proud of their friend.

“Yesterday, you had sex, yes?” Dernier asks. 

And _jeez_ , if he’s venturing away from French, Bucky knows he’s screwed because Dernier has mentioned time and time again (at least to Gabe) that he’s very self-conscious about his accent even though he’d started learning English at a very young age. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Bucky finally says, “Um,” and at that, there’s the loud scuffling of all of the fellas vying for a position near him. Gabe and Morita take either side of him on the couch, Falsworth is on the floor with his chin propped against Bucky’s left leg, and Dum Dum is on the other side. Dernier, who’s still a little slow to catch on to all of their weird nuances, lies on the floor in front of the couch, both hands propping his chin. It’s like they’re all a bunch of kids, gathered around for story time. Only instead of fairytales, they wanna hear dirty things. _Christ_ , these are Bucky’s friends.

“We, uh…” Bucky starts, scratching at his head. “First of all, I swear we were gonna come over yesterday.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Whatever, you know I don’t mind. C’mon, Barnes. Spill it already.”

“It ain’t a big deal or nothin’,” Bucky says, trying for a casual shrug. “We didn’t do nothin’ like Dum Dum. Just. There was…some grindin’ an’ all.”

“ _Naked_ grinding?” Morita asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Mostly,” Bucky says, face going red as soon as the fellas start hooting and hollering. “I mean. He was, but I was…almost. Um.”

“Mouths? Hands?” Falsworth prompts, “C’mon, lad, don’t skimp on the details.”

Morita shoves at Bucky’s leg. “For real, bro. I’m living vicariously through you and Dum Dum right now.”

Though Bucky kind of wants to die and keep his mouth clamped shut, he tells them as much as he’s comfortable with – detailing the way Steve felt, the noises he made, a few of the things he’d said. But he doesn’t divulge the bit that came after. He doesn’t really know why, but he feels like, if anything, Steve should be the one to explain the other thing that they get up to. It’s not like Bucky has a clear picture of it anyhow.

Plus…there’s the whole part where it’s kind of a weird thing to talk about. Like, sex, yeah. He and the fellas have always been pretty open about their experiences. But what he and Steve do is – different. Yeah, it’s sex, but it’s also a little bit _more_. It’s more intimate, for one thing, and…also not about sex.

Basically, Bucky’s got no clue. So, yeah, he’ll let Steve take the reins on that. For now, he’ll keep it to himself.

The rest of the night passes by without incident. Falsworth wins the Horrible Movie Pick of the night with _Jesus Camp_ (which, Bucky isn’t one to poke fun at anyone’s religious beliefs or anything, but that one had been honestly terrifying, and not necessarily _bad_ ) and Gabe comes in second with _Bad Johnson_ (which had _also_ been mildly terrifying and horrendously bad). 

Come morning, Bucky has his usual Sunday coffee with Gabe’s mom and Mamé and finishes cooking up the French toast they’ve started before they head off to church. As soon as the guys start filtering in, Bucky feels his phone buzz against his hip. He waits until he’s shoveling in a bite before he bothers checking, though, and – it turns out that all of the fellas get the same text from Howard Stark: _My house Friday after next. Guest of honor is Natasha Romanov. Be there or she’ll kill u with her thighs_.

And of course, he has to send a follow up because the group message gets inundated with texts saying that people won’t be able to make it since they’ll be out of town for Thanksgiving and it says: _NOT THIS FRIDAY. FIRST FRIDAY OF DECEMBER, DUMBASSES_.

After that, Bucky gets a text from Steve: _Nat says you can’t get out of it like you did last time, just FYI. Also, think we can get together later today? We could finish up our homework. And I have leftover cookies for you._

Trying not to smirk at the breakfast table, Bucky shoves in a last bite of French toast doused in syrup and then taps out: _Absolutely. My place or yours? Or the library?_

_Mine. Wanna get my hands on you again, Buck._

“I gotta go, fellas,” Bucky says quickly, rinsing his plate as nonchalantly as possible. Only he drops it so hard that it very nearly shatters against the sink and then he can feel that Dum Dum’s smirking at him and Bucky feels the back of his neck go all hot. Recovering, he hugs Gabe’s neck and smacks a kiss to the side of Morita’s head before he waves to the rest of them and reverses the hell outta there. 

 

*

 

Bucky’s back is slammed up against the wall beside the door before it’s even shut completely, Steve’s lips fused to Bucky’s with a heat that has Bucky squirming with arousal – that soon turns to panic the moment Steve moves to the underside of Bucky’s jaw, teeth scraping the hinge like an afterthought. 

“Uh, Steve,” he says, voice high and tight. 

Immediately, Steve pulls back. His eyes are heavy and just barely crinkled around the edges with wry concern. “Sorry,” he says, thumbing at the sensitized flesh. “Got carried away.”

With his backpack still in hand, Bucky leans in and presses a quick kiss to the side of Steve’s mouth. He shrugs off his coat and tosses it onto the couch as he toes off his boots. “Not gonna lie…it was kinda hot,” he murmurs as he passes by. He leads the way back toward Steve’s side of the apartment. “Your room?”

“Ruckus room,” Steve directs, hand trailing down Bucky’s back. “I really do need to finish my homework before we…do other things.” He follows at a distance behind Bucky, and when he continues, his voice sounds a little hesitant. “Plus, there was something I wanted to ask you about.”

Freezing in his tracks, Bucky tries not to sound panicky. “Okay?”

Steve just fixes him with that tiny, secret smile and leads the way into the room in front of Bucky. “It’s nothing bad,” he forestalls, “but you might not have wanted me to…talk to the girls like I did.” He scratches at the back of his head, looking less sure of himself than Bucky has ever seen. But then he seems to square himself with nothing more than a deep breath and he looks Bucky right in the eye. “Have you ever heard of BDSM?”

Snorting, Bucky says, “What, like _Fifty Shades of Grey_?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “I’ve been reliably informed that that’s not an entirely accurate depiction, but yeah. Sure. Like that.” He leans back against the desk, crossing his thin arms over his chest. “Nat says that what we’ve been doing is kind of like that.”

“Huh. It’s not like I’ve read it, anyway.”

Honestly, Bucky doesn’t really know what to think of that. When he hears that acronym, his mind immediately supplies the visualizations of whips and shackles and blindfolds, leather and latex. It’s not exactly entirely appealing. Bucky’s not big on pain – he definitely prefers the soreness of a workout to the throb of a barked shin, after all. 

Only, that’s not what it’d felt like when Steve had bitten him… _That_ had felt like a goddamn full bodied orgasm.

“Um,” Bucky says, suddenly reminded of yesterday’s text about spanking and, hell, maybe he’s not _big_ on pain, but he sure as hell isn’t completely opposed to it. “Alright. But, uh. How? I mean…whaddaya mean?”

Steve gestures for Bucky to take a seat on the chaise across from the desk, nestled between two bookcases. When Bucky follows the direction, he practically sinks straight into the thing, groaning before he can help himself. 

After a brief laugh, Steve says, “I know, right? Like a marshmallow.” 

“Fit for a king,” Bucky replies, snuggling in deeper. His hair is loose (which, _yeah_ , he definitely did on purpose) for once, still a little damp from his shower, and it tickles his nose when he lays his head on the back of his hand. “Makes me wanna get you on here an’ feed you grapes.” 

Eyes dark, Steve says, “See, I was thinking the same thing.” He turns, nabs his laptop and then comes over, ordering Bucky to, “Scootch,” so he can sidle right up against Bucky’s side. After he boots it up, he tilts the screen so that they can both see and –

“You lookin’ at porn, Steven Grant?”

The look Steve shoots Bucky is almost entirely unamused. “ _No_. It’s not porn; those are just ads, hush. It’s a BDSM forum, see?” He clicks around a bit and sees a site map that shows an introduction to BDSM, something on balancing a “D/s” relationship, and links to all kinds of other stuff. 

Bucky zeroes in on another open tab that Steve has, titled, “BDSM Checklist.” Curious, he asks, “Hey, what’s that one?”

Clicking over, Steve explains, “Well, after what Natasha told me, I was super curious. So I started doing a little research and…well. I figured we could maybe go through some of this together, if you wanted.”

Resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky says, “Yeah, sure.”

There’s a lot of stuff that Bucky doesn’t understand. They spend almost as much time looking up terms in the glossary as they do reading through the articles. And Bucky knows they’re only barely touching on things; he can already feel himself gearing up toward a new obsession, wanting nothing more than to learn as much as possible about this new subject. He’s always been a bit of a voracious reader, glutting himself whenever the mood strikes, but he’s generally pretty picky about the subject. But with this, with Steve in his peripherals or sitting right there as a constant in his mind’s eye, Bucky knows he won’t have a problem at all.

As they read, Steve’s finger brushes over Bucky’s hip, slow and steady. It’s just about as calming as when he cards Bucky’s hair through his fingers, but more so grounding than sending him off into – “Subspace,” Steve says, voice deep and intrigued. “Here, read this one. Tell me if it’s like what happens with you.”

Scanning the article, Bucky’s eyes catch on phrases like, “altered state,” and, “inarticulate or non-verbal, suggestible,” and, “floaty and warm, possibly with mild tingling throughout the body,” and then finally, “hard to resist.” Pretty much all of it coincides with what Bucky can remember of his experiences with Steve.

“Holy shit, there’s a name for it,” Bucky says, chest fluttering as he looks to Steve. He squeezes at Steve’s wrist, beaming as he exclaims, “ _Steve!_ I ain’t a complete freak!”

“Well, I could’ve told you that.” Steve’s secret smile blooms a bit bigger. He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s jaw. “Anyway, I was thinking we could both kinda do these over the week as homework. Maybe we could get together after Thanksgiving’s over and see where to go from there.”

And, _man_ , Bucky’d forgotten that they only have two days of school this week. It sends a spike of panic through him, followed by even _more_ when he wonders how in the hell he ever got through life without seeing Steve every day.

“What’re you doin’ for Thanksgiving break?” he asks, needing to know with an urgency that irks him. Bucky swears he never used to be this clingy of a person. 

Chewing on his lip, Bucky watches Steve’s face turn from the screen to regard him, that tiny furrow appearing between his brows.

“Aunt Liza and I spend Thanksgiving Day down at the shelter,” Steve answers, watching Bucky’s face, “We have our own the day after. What about you? You guys go out of town or something?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, tipping his head back against the chaise. He swallows, trying to quell the dumb anxiety that’s creeping up trying to have its way with him. “We go to Brooklyn to hang out with my nana an’ pretty much all of dad’s side of the family. Then we’re s’posed to hang out with ma’s side in DUMBO.”

“Big family?”

Scoffing, Bucky lets his head roll to the side so he can look at Steve again. “Oh yeah. But hey, at least this time I’ll be able to answer the, ‘do ya got a fella?’ questions with a yes.” 

Steve hums, smiling as he shuts the lid of the laptop and places it on the ground. When he resurfaces, his face is a little pink from the exertion but still he twines his arms around Bucky and sidles up close. “That you do,” he says, “and you’d better not forget it, either.”

“Don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” Bucky teases.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, smirking. “And why’s that?”

“’Cause ya got sharp little teeth, Steve,” Bucky answers, tugging down the neckline of his v-neck to reveal the pretty little bruise he’s got blooming on his pec. He watches Steve’s face, his pupils dilating so fast it’s like something straight off the Discovery Channel and almost as predatory to boot. Bucky gulps.

Before he knows what exactly is happening, Bucky’s being pushed even deeper into the chaise and then he’s got a lap full of Steve Rogers. The kiss that Steve doles out is definitely more teeth than tongue, but Bucky can’t complain, not when he’s got his hands curved around Steve’s ass and Steve’s delicate fingers twisting their way up into his hair. By the time he pulls back, Steve’s already panting, still looking at Bucky like he wants to eat him alive. He keeps one hand rooted in Bucky’s hair, squirming atop Bucky as the other trails down to his collar, tugging the shirt away from Bucky’s skin and his own lip between his teeth as he maintains eye contact. 

Bucky’s caught, frozen and pinned beneath Steve. Somehow, through the fluttering pulse of fight-or-flight in his chest, he’s able to work his mouth. “T-thought you had homework?”

Deflating into a slump on Bucky’s chest, Steve gives an, “ _Ugh_ ,” and knocks his forehead against Bucky’s. “So responsible. Ruinin’ all my fun.” After nipping at Bucky’s lower lip one last time, Steve shoves off and grabs his backpack, tugging out his government textbook and a binder full of notes. Then, when he turns to look at Bucky again, he’s got this sly glint in his eye when he asks, “You want the desk or the lounge?”

“Uh, I’m fine with either,” Bucky says, shrugging. “I’ll go wherever you want me.”

The way Steve eyes him makes Bucky curious and nervous all at once, afraid that he’s said the wrong thing until that secret smile works its way up onto Steve’s mouth. “Alright,” Steve says, “Well, you stay where you are. I’ll stay all the way over here.” There’s a touch of hesitation that’s quickly hidden beneath steely determination when Steve says, “Don’t get up ‘til I say, alright?”

Nodding dumbly, Bucky just says, “Okay,” and bends to nab his backpack from the floor. He’d finished pretty much everything that’s due tomorrow, but he figures he can’t go wrong getting a head start on the stuff that’s due after the break. There’s a project in English and he’s supposed to start thinking up ideas with Falsworth for prom themes.

Delving into his work with single-minded focus, Bucky’s way too absorbed to notice the exact moment that Steve turned in the swivel chair to watch him. But when he _does_ notice, eyes wide and hair all in his face, that all of Steve’s stuff is put away and he’s just _watching_ Bucky, it makes his chest flutter up into his throat. The bones in Steve’s wrist are delicate, so thin that sometimes Bucky’s afraid they’re going to snap between Bucky’s fingers like iced-over twigs beneath the weight of a swallow. But there’s nothing delicate about the way he’s stroking over his jeans, inching closer and closer to the inseam like he’d just been waiting for Bucky to catch a clue.

Bucky’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Took you long enough,” Steve says, smirking. “I’ve been done for ten minutes.”

The pencil falls from Bucky’s grip, drops to the ground and rolls somewhere under the chaise. He’ll get it later. “Uh,” Bucky says. He swallows. 

“Remember what I said?”

Nodding, Bucky parrots, “Don’t get up ‘til you say.”

“ _Good_ ,” Steve says, smiling just a touch brighter, “Think you can be a good boy for me?” He spreads his legs wider, his long fingers playing just over the zip of his jeans.

Bucky gets hard so fast he’s dizzy. Breath scarcely more than a stutter, he can’t take his eyes off the way Steve’s fingers flutter and tease, the way the slump of Steve’s cock in his jeans thickens. He jumps when Steve says, “I asked you a question,” at Bucky’s lingering silence, caught staring with his mouth open until he shakes himself and shakily answers, “Yes, Steve.”

“That means,” Steve says slowly, still petting over his dick even as pink starts crawling up his throat to settle on his cheeks, “you’re going to sit there and touch your pretty dick for me. Gonna show me everything you like.”

Even as he’s nodding along, flushing from head to toe, Bucky still feels like he can’t suck in a full breath. Everything feels a little fuzzy, like this is too hot to happen in real life so he has to transcend to some alternate plane of reality. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes are dark when he asks, “Well, what’re you waiting for?”

Though his hands tremble ever so slightly, Bucky finds solace in the smile on Steve’s face when he starts unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling his hard cock through the slit of his boxers. “Good?” he asks quietly.

But it doesn’t look like Steve hears him and it’s definitely because his eyes are glued onto Bucky’s hand curled around his hard dick. “Shit, Bucky,” Steve breathes, and then his eyes flicker up Bucky’s body to meet his eyes. His hand squeezes around the curve of his cock and Bucky whimpers loud enough that Steve gives a bit more volume when he repeats, “ _Shit_ , Bucky.” Then he says, “Close your eyes.”

Not even thinking about it, just moving on rote, Bucky does and then starts running the fingertips of three fingers around the head of his dick. He keeps his touch light, the way he usually starts off if he’s got the house to himself and the time to spare. And it’s… _different_. He’s never done it like this before, with his eyes closed and someone else in the room _watching_. It makes everything more acute – the feeling of his own hand, the subtle sound of Steve’s fingers sliding over denim.

Heat rises up from the base of his stomach. Bucky moans.

Eyes closed, Bucky tips his head back and uses his other hand to trail up under his shirt. He scrapes his fingernails over his hipbones, the ridges of his abs, the curve of his pectorals. One of Bucky’s favorite things when he gets himself off has always been to play with his nipples, but as he’s working his way up that path, he gets distracted by the sharp bite of his bruise. When it makes him hiss, he hears Steve’s reciprocating groan.

“God, you’re gorgeous, Buck,” Steve says – _blurts_ really, and then Bucky can hear the jangle of Steve’s belt.

He very nearly opens his eyes, flushing harder from the compliment than the thought of being watched. He scrapes his nails over the bruise, over his nipple, squirming against the sensation. “ _Shit_ ,” Bucky breathes.

Gripping his cock a little tighter, Bucky’s brows furrow as he tries to listen intently to Steve’s movements. There’s the sound of fabric moving and then, _oh, God_ , Steve’s making a soft, heated noise and it’s all Bucky can do to squeeze his eyes shut tighter, stroke his hand just a tad faster to keep from taking a peek at whatever is making Steve sound like that. Bucky strokes a little faster, and then stops. It makes his thighs twitch – the way the climb gets jilted. He gasps.

“Feel good?” Steve asks.

Nodding, Bucky runs just hit fingertips around the head of his dick again. “Uh huh,” Bucky whines, “but _god_ , Stevie, please. I…I wanna see you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve grits out, and he must be turned the fuck _on_ because all Bucky can hear is the slick slide of his fist over his cock. “C’mon, B, don’t you wanna be a good boy?”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky says, edging on a whimper, “ _Fuck_. I do, Steve, wanna be good for you.” Sweat beads up on Bucky’s temples, slides down beside his ears and down his jaw. He tugs faster, squeezes at his nipple with his other hand. 

With his eyes closed, Bucky’s skin feels way too sensitive. His clothes feel so rough that Bucky’s half ready to scream, but his hand feels so good that he’s able to swallow it down. Abandoning his chest Bucky shifts in the chaise, squirming until he can slip his jeans down to mid-thigh, giving himself a bit of relief from the rough denim. With a contented sigh he wraps his hand back around his cock and gives himself a series of tugs with one hand while he reaches below with the other, thumbing at the sensitive skin of his sac and then just beyond it. 

Loudly, Steve groans and then there’s the loud slickness of him working his dick even faster. “ _Jesus_ , that’s hot, Buck,” he says, voice suddenly closer, deeper, hotter. “Look so pretty playin’ with your little hole like that.”

The slick sounds stop and then Bucky cries out, the feeling of Steve’s hands on his hips way too intense for how simple of a touch it is. 

“Shh, shh, don’t stop on my account.” Steve’s hands grip at the waistline of Bucky’s jeans, his mouth comes to press lightly against the side of Bucky’s jaw. He tugs roughly until Bucky’s pants are caught around his ankles, and then his long, delicate fingers are sliding up Bucky’s calves, his knees, his thighs. “Here, spread your legs a little more – so good, yeah, keep ‘em closed; you’re doing so well, Buck. Now, keep touching yourself for me. _Yeah_ , just like that.” 

Bucky keeps his eyes squeezed shut, tries to lean into Steve’s touch but then he’s backing away, his hands gone to leave Bucky’s sweat damp skin bare to the air. 

The slick noises start up again, far away enough that Steve must be back in the chair at the desk. 

“Oh, fuck, Stevie,” Bucky says, tipping his head back once again so he can suck in some air. He pumps faster, twisting his fist just enough to make his thighs shake. He trails one fingertip against his hole, his legs spread wide enough that the angle isn’t too awkward. “You like me like this?”

“You got no idea.”

The tone of Steve’s voice is almost enough for Bucky to let his eyes flutter open, but – “Tell me.” Shifting his hips against the pressure, Bucky manages to ease a finger in to the first knuckle, just teasing his rim. 

Bucky feels like he must look stupid. His pants are down around his knees and his shirt’s rucked up over his belly; he’s got one hand around his cock and the other thumbing at his balls while he’s got a finger buried in his ass. Hell, his socks are still on. Nothing about this should be appealing and yet Steve’s over there, stripping his own cock and making all of these noises like this is doing something to him that Bucky can’t even fathom. So, _yeah_ , he wants to know.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, panting loud enough for Bucky to hear. He moans and Bucky can’t help but echo it. “I can’t even – God, Buck, you haven’t even opened your eyes once. Do you know what that does to me?” 

From the way the slick noises pick up, Bucky can imagine. And _fuck_ , Bucky wants to _see_. 

But he also wants to be good, so he can’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut just that bit tighter. Even though all he has to work with is a little bit of sweat, Bucky works his finger in deeper, twists his wrists so that he can press along his walls to tease at his prostate when he crooks his finger just right. It jolts straight through him, heat skittering up his spine. _Fuck_ , he’s close. He’s so close, he’s – “ _Steve_.”

Steve’s voice is close, so close when he says, “Yeah, I’m here. _Fuck_ , you’re so good for me.” And then he’s kissing Bucky, his lips soft and sweet and coaxing the moment before he sinks his teeth and tugs at Bucky’s bottom lip. Then his hand is covering Bucky’s, the other settling on Bucky’s wrist, coaxing the movements along at a slightly slower pace. “You almost there?”

Bucky nods, his face screwing up as he shifts his hips between his own finger still buried inside his ass and Steve’s gentle thumbing at the head of his cock.

“Open your eyes,” Steve says. “You’ve been so good for me, this whole time, Bucky. You’re amazing. Such a good boy.”

Swirls of light and color gradually morph into Steve’s face – and he looks _wrecked_ with his face all red and his lip bitten to hell and his eyes are so fucking blown that Bucky can’t help but toss his head back and come all over Steve’s fist, balls twitching and cock pumping so hard that Bucky feels like he might be dying a little bit. “Oh, god,” he whines, voice pitchy and weird as he holds eye contact with his fella, “ _Stevie_.”

Smiling, Steve just works him through it, using the hand that had been on Bucky’s wrist to pet over his sweat damp hair, pushing it out of his face. “That’s it,” he’s crooning, “There ya go.”

Slumping back into the chaise, Bucky pants hard as his thighs tremble. He clutches at Steve with shaky hands, but manages to drag him in for a kiss, the angle awkward until he gets Steve to drop down onto his lap. Steve just twines his arms around the back of Bucky’s neck like this is his favorite place in the world and it’s not until Bucky’s hands come down to rest on Steve’s hips that Bucky realizes he’s lost his pants.

When he looks down, Bucky gets a peek at Steve’s cock – steadily dripping and so hard it’s practically purple. Bucky’s never wanted to taste a cock so much in his life. 

“Steve, please, please, I wanna, can I?” 

Bucky’s never wanted _anything_ so much in his life. His head’s all fuzzy and light but he _wants_ it.

But Steve hasn’t given him permission. He’s not supposed to move from the chair, so he can’t just flip them around and slide down to his knees as much as he might want to. So instead, he pleads between heavy kisses, uses both hands to knead at Steve’s skin.

“What?” Steve asks, shifting subtly as he sits back to look at Bucky’s mouth. “Sorry, sorry. What do you want, Buck? Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Bucky steadies himself, tries to dig deep and find the charm that he knows he’s capable of when the time is right. “Wanna suck you off,” Bucky says, sliding his hands up Steve’s back to his shoulders to either of his cheeks to make sure that he’s listening, reading Bucky’s lips, _whatever_. “You’re drippin’, Stevie, wanna get my mouth on ya so bad. Bet you taste so good.” 

Eyes going wide, Steve’s breath comes out in a giant huff, his brows pinch and his face screws up. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_ , I –” He tucks his face into the junction of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, cries out, and _bites down_ , the sting shocking Bucky just as much the sudden hot, spurt of Steve coming all over Bucky’s thigh and into the crook of his hip. “Shit,” Steve breathes, still shuddering, “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t – I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, petting a hand up and over Steve’s spine, “That’s alright, babydoll. Still hot as hell; don’t mean we can’t try it some other time.”

Steve groans, sucking in another breath, but then he laughs and untucks his face to kiss the side of Bucky’s mouth. “Trying to kill me, huh?”

It takes a minute for them to get untangled, but Steve gets a washcloth to clean Bucky off and then helps them both redress. After that they move to Steve’s room where it’s a little more comfortable to lie together, curled up so that their faces are probably too close for Steve to be able to read Bucky’s lips if he needs to, but they manage well enough.

“So d’ya think that…” Bucky starts, unsure, “What we just did, was that considered, ya know…kinky?”

Steve’s shoulder scrunches in a shrug. “Probably. From what Natasha told me, I’m apparently a pretty kinky bastard.” He smiles and leans in to press a kiss to Bucky’s chin. His voice goes deep when he says, “You were so good, too. Keeping your eyes closed for me like that. How’d it feel?” 

This time, Bucky shrugs. “I dunno. It was kinda like how I get off when I’m alone, only this time I knew you were there an’ not just in my head.” Squirming just a bit from the memory, he runs a hand across Steve’s side, settling on Steve’s hip. “When I opened my eyes, an’ I saw your perfect little angel face,” he says, trailing his hand back up to thumb at Steve’s cheekbone, “that was pretty intense, to be honest. Couldn’t take my eyes offa you. What about for you? When I’m…when ya tell me I’m good, does it really make you happy?”

A tiny smile creeps onto Steve’s mouth. “Of course it does. Makes me proud.”

Flushing, Bucky ducks his chin and smiles softly.

“And _that_ ,” Steve says, “You blush so pretty, Buck. _God_ , this break is gonna kill me. You’re sure you have to go to Brooklyn?”

“Oh, god, I _know_.” Bucky covers his face with his hands and, when Steve’s fingers circle his wrists and pry them away, he tucks his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “I’m just telling myself it’s the honeymoon phase an’ I won’t be so…clingy.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re clingy.” Steve’s tiny secret smile grows. “But then again, I’m probably not the best person to ask. If you wanted me to, I’d probably trail after you like a puppy all the time.”

A tension that Bucky hadn’t known eases out of his chest and he finds he can breathe a little easier. “I could say the same about you. Pretty sure once the fellas get to know you a little better, they’ll forget all about me.”

Smiling, Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop that.”

“Hey, I got a question,” Bucky says.

“Shoot.”

“What’s with all the vintage posters?” he asks, gesturing behind himself toward the open expanse of Steve’s room. “Like, where’d you find ‘em?”

“I didn’t find them.” Steve looks almost bashful, a pink tinge crawling up his throat. “I actually made those.”

Bucky fixes Steve with a look. “Ya know, I dunno why I’m surprised. Every time I think, ‘well, there’s gotta be somethin’ he ain’t perfect at,’ you go an’ prove me wrong.” He flips over, hops out of the bed, and shuffles over to take a look at the posters by the door. 

There’s a ‘We Want You’ recruitment poster that looks appropriately worn and then another of ‘Murray’s Pomade.’ Bucky has no clue how Steve managed to get everything to look just faded enough to look vintage and not like they’re printed at all. “Did you do these on Photoshop?”

“Nah, I did them by hand. They were for a competition at school.”

“Oh, shit, was that last year?” Bucky asks, looking over his shoulder at Steve. “I think I remember your name gettin’ announced on the intercom. First prize, right?”

Steve blushes all pretty and says, “Yeah.”

Bucky walks over and kisses him, hands on either of his cheeks. “You’re so talented.” He kisses Steve’s forehead. “And smart.” He kisses Steve’s left cheek. “And kind.” He kisses Steve’s right cheek. “Not to mention hot as hell.” Smirking, Bucky gets one knee up onto the mattress and hovers over Steve. “And I wanna kiss you all over. All the time.” 

Humming, Steve smiles and shifts around until he can tug Bucky down onto the mattress between his legs. They keep their kisses slow and teasing, trading off who leads every now and again just to change up the style, up until the moment that Bucky’s phone rings and, with a chorus of frustrated groans, they pull apart.

Bucky’s not quite breathing hard when he answers the phone, but his ma still makes a comment and Bucky blushes and stammers and promises to be home for dinner. After he hangs up, Steve’s laughing at him and saying, “Come here.” 

As much as he wants to grump and ask why, Bucky listens. He turns and perches on the end of the bed while Steve kneels behind him and gathers up his hair. For a few moments he cards his fingers through the strands and Bucky feels like he could just slip right down into that fuzzy warm place if Steve would just keep at it for a little while longer. But of course he doesn’t and Bucky feels weirdly disappointed. He wants to go under, he wants to be subject to Steve’s fingers and his whims and he doesn’t want to resurface until Steve says that it’s okay.

But then Steve gives a little tug. 

“Do you have a hairband?” Steve asks. When Bucky admits that he doesn’t, Steve just says, “Don’t you worry,” and then proceeds to twist Bucky’s hair into a low bun. “Your hair is about the same length as Natasha’s. I’ve seen her do this a million times.” Tucking the end up into the twist, Steve finishes up and leans in to press a kiss to the side of Bucky’s jaw, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s chest. “Alright, now turn around so I can see.”

Wry smile on his face, Bucky does. “How do I look?”

Steve leans in and kisses Bucky. “Like you’re mine.” He puts his hand on Bucky’s chest, right over the mark he left, and that coupled with the look in his eyes causes Bucky’s breath to catch in his throat. Then he grins, playfully says, “Oh, you mean your hair! Yeah, it looks good. No more sex hair.”

Bucky very nearly snorts. “I’m outta here,” he says, gathering up his keys. Steve follows him out toward the front hall – but then diverts to the kitchen where he nabs a Tupperware full of cookies and returns to where Bucky’s bent over lacing up his boots. Jolting, Bucky stands upright and looks at Steve standing there all innocently after totally _groping Bucky’s ass_. With a suspicious squint, Bucky says, “Yeah, I’m on to you.” 

Arms wrapped around his middle, Steve smiles and says, “Text me when you get home,” before he closes the door behind Bucky.

On autopilot, Bucky drives home. After he parks in his usual spot, Bucky pulls out his phone and texts Steve: _Home safe!_

_Did you text me right when you got there?_

Snorting to himself, Bucky types back: _Ain’t even turned off the car yet._

As he’s walking inside, toeing off his boots and hanging up his coat, Bucky’s phone buzzes in his pocket and just as he tugs it out to see, _Good boy_ , just as his mother passes by with a basket full of towels. 

“Oh, there you are, kiddo,” she says, eyeing him with a speculative look, “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

She comes over and puts the back of her hand to his forehead, testing for a fever the way she used to do when he was a kid. He accepts it, not moving in fear of being called out on the true purpose of his flushed cheeks and tries to sound at least a little bit confused when he answers her, “Are you feeling okay?” with a, “Yeah, I feel fine, I think.” 

Dinner is a quick affair and afterwards Bucky gets to veg out with his phone and laptop, checking up on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram as he intermittently texts Steve and Gabe and Dum Dum. He’s very careful about checking and rechecking the name of the person he’s texting, too afraid that he’ll end up saying something vaguely flirty to either of his friends. They’d play along with it until Bucky finally noticed and then laugh their asses off about it and never let him live it down. His friends are great where it counts, but definitely a bunch of assholes, too. 

After a while, Bucky remembers – with the help of Steve mentioning something about a blindfold – to start reading about this whole BDSM thing.

The first stuff that pops up on his laptop is essentially nothing but hardcore porn. He’s more than a little intimidated by the titles of the clips and videos, scared and worried for the state of humanity. Nothing about those things seems anything like the whole Safe, Sane, and Consensual bit Steve had read to him earlier.

So, instead of Googling, “BDSM,” Bucky tries that catchphrase and the results are slightly more promising. There are more than a few dot-orgs that supply informative articles and links and then a few blogs that don’t look like they’re associated with scary sex dungeons. One even has articles with appropriate scholarly sources and everything. He quickly types out the link and sends it to Steve, hoping that he’ll read up on the super in-depth piece about subspace.

There’s a pretty lengthy part on something called, “Subdrop,” too, which, _yeah_ , Bucky is definitely glad to have learned about and how it can be helped with a hefty dose of “Aftercare.” Thinking back, he realizes that it’d definitely explain his moodiness when his mom had gotten back. 

For hours, Bucky reads and reads and reads and it’s only when Steve texts him with, _It’s getting late. Why don’t you get ready for bed?_ , that Bucky realizes it’s well past midnight. 

Right on cue, Bucky’s jaw pops with the stretch of his yawn. “Shit,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes, feeling like he hasn’t blinked in ages. _I haven’t even looked at the checklist yet!_ , he sends back, and then: _But yeah, good idea. I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Stevie._

 

*

 

Steve looks pale when Bucky sees him first thing in the morning. Pale and tiny and cold. 

It’s second nature for Bucky to shrug off his jacket, the newly howling-wolf-patched letterman jacket courtesy of Ms. Morita, and offer it to Steve before he heads off to his second hour. At first, Steve gives Bucky his trademark surly frown, but eventually, with just a bit of coaxing, he finally relents. And something about it, seeing Steve swimming in the jacket that fits Bucky just right, makes Bucky’s breath catch in his throat. Steve seems to notice.

“You’re going to be late,” Steve says, smirking with his arms crossed. The effect is ruined by how long the jacket’s sleeves are on him, inching way past the tips of his gorgeous fingers.

Bucky practically runs into an incoming freshman, stutters out a profuse apology, and then shoots Steve an abashed half-wave before he jets over to Ms. Craddock’s class. 

With relative ease, things settle into a pretty comfortable routine for the two days that they’re required to be at school for the week. Classes are perfunctory because it’s obvious that the teachers are ready for Thanksgiving break too – more than one had made comments about dealing with in-laws or bratty nieces and nephews – and lunch is pretty quiet without Dum Dum, who’s with his girl, and Morita, who’s across the country with his family in Fresno already. It’s alright with Bucky, though, because Steve seems to get along best with Gabe, Dernier, and Falsworth anyway. Not a single one of them is the type to make fun of either him or Steve for the jacket thing, so Bucky lets Steve keep wearing it both days.

After school on Tuesday, Bucky’s in his car still kind of damp from post-practice showers when he gets a text from Steve asking him to meet at the school’s library. So he drives his car over to the commons lot and has just barely pulled his phone out to call Steve when he comes trudging out, headphones in and looking absolutely tiny in Bucky’s jacket.

It just about hangs to his knees.

Warmth sparks in Bucky’s stomach.

He comes around to the driver’s side instead of hopping in like Bucky expects. “Hey,” Steve says, leaning in through the window to kiss the side of Bucky’s mouth.

“Didn’t think I’d get to see ya again before I had to leave,” Bucky says, not bothering to hide the giddiness in his chest. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” Steve answers, swiping his hair to the side. “Just…did you want your jacket back before you go?”

Shaking his head with a furrow between his brows, Bucky says, “Nah, Stevie, you can keep it.” Then he smiles, continues with, “’Sides, I like seein’ you in my clothes. Makes the caveman brain all happy,” and an eyebrow waggle to boot. “Hey, you need a ride home or somethin’?”

Steve smiles and burrows a bit deeper into Bucky’s jacket. “Aunt Liza’s coming to give me a ride to the shelter today. Wants to get some of the preparations out of the way.” Reaching in, Steve tucks some of Bucky’s hair behind his ear and then cradles his cheek. “What time are you leaving?”

“Ma said seven, but knowin’ Dad, it won’t be ‘til nine,” Bucky answers.

Chuckling, Steve says, “Well, that explains a lot.”

And, _hell_ , Bucky supposes it does.

“Anyway, guess I better let you go pack,” Steve says reluctantly. He leans in for one more kiss and then steps away from the car, looking the slightest bit torn. “Text me when you’re home.”

 

*

 

Bucky loves his family.

Honestly, he does. But they’re getting on his last damn nerve and he feels like he can’t breathe with how many people there are crammed into Nana’s brownstone. 

There’s his dad’s brother Bill and his ex-wife Susan, who only came because the kids wouldn’t if she didn’t. Jordan and Kaylee have gotten so much bigger since the last time he saw them that he almost hadn’t recognized them. Then there’s Dad’s sisters Liv and Sal who brought their husbands, Dave and Marcus, respectively, and all of their kids too. Liv’s kids are older than Bucky by a handful of years, but they’ve always gotten along better with Bec so the conversations they’ve had with Bucky have mostly centered on her and then after that things are pretty stilted. All of the other cousins present are younger, mostly either in middle school or elementary school, but he does have one who’s just made it into pre-school. (It’s been years since Bucky’s aunts and uncles have ragged on Sal and Marcus about the “Surprise Baby” but that’s mostly because Prue might actually be an angel sent down from heaven.) 

But Bucky’s pretty sure that if he gets asked one more damn question about his football season record or his post-high school plans or told that he needs to cut his hair, he’s going to scream. And possibly murder someone.

But he _loves his family_ so he won’t do that. For now.

Thanksgiving morning in Brooklyn is cold enough for Bucky’s wet hair to get crunchy when he steps out on the front stoop to enjoy his coffee in peace. He’s got his heaviest sweater on and a pair of boots, but, as he’s tugging out his phone, he’s thinking that he probably should’ve put on a pair of fingerless gloves.

The peace doesn’t last very long, of course, because half of the Barnes clan tends to wake before nine and the other half won’t be seen until noon at the earliest. It’s always nice to see everyone, but Bucky feels like he’s been stretched so thin that he can hardly hold a conversation with Nana – and she’s his favorite person in this whole outfit. But, reinforcing exactly why, Nana seems to understand and doesn’t force him into the same topics as the rest of the family. Instead, she, in a mix of Yiddish and English, starts ordering him and half of his cousins to start helping her prepare their traditional Thanksgiving dishes.

It’s definitely more relaxing that way, just doing as she says and weaving in between his cousins while his parents, aunts, and uncles drink pre-dinner wine and brandy in the den. Good-natured arguments flare up from the other room and Bucky brings the rosy-cheeked adults water and challah bread when Nana commands it.

She’s a tiny, pepper-haired lady with more wrinkles than a Chinese Shar-Pei and the sweetest smile anyone has ever seen. She also has a penchant for smacking ornery knuckles with a wooden spoon. Bucky thinks she could rule the world.

Around three, Bucky takes a break outside, walking with his older cousins around the block so that they can smoke away from the critical eyes of their parents. He pulls out his phone for the first time in hours and sees quite a few messages from his pals, a ton of very generic, _Happy Thanksgiving!_ texts from acquaintances and then a picture from Steve. It’s a selfie of him and his Aunt Liza, their faces smushed together.

“Ay, Bucky, is thatcha boyfriend?” Pen says, nudging up against him with her shoulder, “He’s a tiny little fella.”

Fiona chips in with a, “Lemme see!” and starts crowding in on Bucky’s other side until he shows her the screen. “Oh, my god!” she crows, “What a little cutie! He wearin’ ya jacket? Aw, that’s fuckin’ precious. Ya makin’ me miss high school.”

Cam, _thank god_ , doesn’t seem to care as much as his sisters, but he does smile when Bucky flips his phone around to show him. 

Later on, there’s turkey and dressing and green bean casserole and so many pies that Bucky feels like he’s going to explode with how full he is. He’d made a point to try everything, and then his Nana had pushed more challah bread his way and Bucky’s helpless to resist both his Nana and challah bread, so he has definitely over-indulged by the time everyone starts retiring to their respective nooks for post-dinner naps. 

In his corner of the den, where his pallet is all set up, Bucky takes a selfie of the most unattractive angle he can manage – where it looks like he has about six chins – and then sends it to Steve with a caption that reads: _How much does it cost to rent a forklift?_

Steve, in return, sends back a link to nearby construction equipment rental and Bucky actually barks a laugh loud enough that he gets shushed by Prue. 

After one more night of sleeping on a makeshift pallet on Nana’s den, Bucky and his parents say their goodbyes and head off to DUMBO to celebrate the holiday with the slightly less-exciting maternal side of the family. Aunt Eleanor never had any kids and Uncle Mike’s ex-wife must have custody of the kids for Thanksgiving this year, so Bucky ends up being the only one amongst all of the adults for the two day duration at Pop’s. 

Bucky’s well past exhausted by the time they make it back home on Sunday afternoon. He texts Steve once he flops down on his bed, but falls asleep before he even gets a response.

When he wakes up a few hours later, he’s got a text from his ma saying that there’s pizza downstairs if he’s hungry and a message from Steve that says: _Call me when you wake up._

Bucky immediately dials his number and then asks, in a sleep rough voice, “How’d you know I’d take a nap?” as soon as the line connects.

Steve’s laugh is throaty and warm, something that Bucky’s missed hearing for the past five days. “Because there was a lot of lag time between responses, Buck. I know all of your tells.” 

And hell, Bucky supposes he does. “Uh, huh. If I’m that easy, then what am I thinkin’ right now?”

After a tiny contemplative hum, Steve cheekily answers, “That you miss me.”

“Damn, you got me,” Bucky says, smiling like a goof. He realizes he’s twirling the end of his hair around his finger and quickly drops it, feeling way too much like a schoolgirl. “’M I really that predictable?”

“Course you are. But the thing is, I miss you too. I’d ask to hang out tonight, but I know you probably need some time to decompress.”

Once again, Steve’s right on the nose. “You know it’s not that I don’t want to see you, right?” Bucky asks, and then bites at his lip before quickly hurrying on, “’Cause I do. But I’m all people’d out and I just wanna, I dunno, read or somethin’. Be a vegetable for a few hours.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Steve says, voice gentle, “You’ve gotta recharge. Hey, you ever do that checklist?”

“Shit,” Bucky breathes, going tense, “Nah, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Steve says, heading off the immediate weight of anxiety on Bucky’s shoulders. “I know. I only asked because I was going to suggest reading through it now.”

“Now? Like on the phone with you?”

Steve chuckles. “From the stuff I’ve been reading, I think it might be better if you go through it without me. I don’t want to influence your decisions with my reactions, ya know?”

“Huh.” Bucky guesses that makes sense. “Okay.”

“But hey, once you’re finished, let me know.”

With a smile, Bucky says, “You got it.”

After warming up some pizza and scarfing it down as quickly as possible without raising suspicion, Bucky rushes back to his room and jumps headfirst into the checklist.


	6. panties and a party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half the time, Bucky feels like he’s so hard that he’s going to burst, just thinking about doing some of these things with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to work on cutting down the word count on these suckers. Yo, check the tags for some updates! 
> 
> ALSO: This chapter is all about the hurt/comfort. Bucky experiences pretty bad subdrop. Steve talks about his tattoo and the deaths of his parents. There’s fighting and getting patched up and teenagers acting like they don’t have any good sense.
> 
> P.S.: I have gotten some incredibly lovely messages in the past few days and I really just want to say thank you to everyone that bothers reading this thing.

The checklist ends up being a comprehensive Excel document with multiple categories and places to mark whether or not he has experienced a certain situation, wants to do it, is up for trying it or discussing it, or won’t do it at all, et cetera. There’s plenty of room for Bucky to write down comments or concerns, putting question marks on the things that he’s never heard of so that he’ll remember to look things up later. Because the checklist is so massive, there’s a ton of stuff on it that doesn’t actually apply to him or Steve, considering neither of them has a vagina, so he ticks the “N/A” box on a hefty percentage there. 

Half the time, Bucky feels like he’s so hard that he’s going to burst, just thinking about doing some of these things with Steve. Bucky’s always had a pretty vivid imagination, after all. But then some of the other things are just a _massive_ turn off. Bucky doesn’t know how much more of this his dick can take, going from hard to soft and back again, so he tries to go through the rest of the list with an objective eye.

Rimming is a definite yes – just thinking about getting his mouth on Steve’s hole has Bucky shifting his hips from side to side, but then imagining Steve sitting on his face, squirming the way he does in Bucky’s lap, is just about enough for him to reach down and palm himself – and he feels pretty optimistic about anal beads and butt plugs. Fellatio is absolutely a yes, gang bangs are a no, he’s got no clue what queening is but he’s pretty sure that it won’t apply to him and Steve. Teasing is a yes, vibrators yes, orgies are a no. He’d be interested in discreet public sex in the way that they’ve already done it – grinding in Bucky’s car beneath a streetlight in an apartment complex’s parking lot isn’t exactly private. The thought of a threesome kind of turns Bucky on, but he’s not quite sure he’d actually _want_ to share Steve that way with someone else.

The bondage section takes Bucky a little more time because he gets distracted by looking up pictures. Most of it is pretty intriguing, actually, but he doesn’t feel like it’s something he wants to do himself. Sure, it’s pretty and all, but most of it doesn’t turn Bucky on at all. He _does_ , however, like the idea of being helpless, subject to Steve’s whims and nothing else, so he checks yes for cuffs, basic rope, and, _wow_ , spreader bars.

After that it’s the sadomasochism section and Bucky surprises himself with how many things he’s willing to try.

Steve’s already given him bruises from the biting, and both times Bucky’s eyes had basically rolled back in his head with how good it’d felt afterward, so he marks those down as have done, will do again. He’s definitely up for scratching – because picturing Steve sitting on his hips, raking his fingers down Bucky’s chest with that secret smile on his face definitely has Bucky squirming again. As weird as it sounds, Bucky feels like he might like being led around by his hair, and Steve already has a bit of a thing for tugging on it, so he marks yes to both of those.

The rougher stuff is definitely a bit scary to picture but he’s not as one hundred percent opposed to it as he thought he’d be. For the most part, he doesn’t care _what_ they do, just as long as afterward Steve tugs him in and pets his hair and tells him that he’s good.

Which, Bucky discovers in the fetish section, is called a praise kink.

Before Bucky realizes, it’s way past his usual bedtime and he’s muttering, “Fuck,” because he’s hard as hell again and he really wants to call Steve and ask how he’d like for Bucky to get off. Because _that_ could be a thing too. Steve could tell him exactly how and where and when to touch himself, and, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” that’s enough to have him palming his dick through his sleep pants.

He doesn’t think; he just does it.

Steve’s voice is a little scratchy, almost the way it is after he’s used his inhaler, when he picks up with a, “’Lo?”

“Steve, I’m –” Bucky blurts, now thinking twice, “Fuck, did I wake ya?”

Steve’s silent just long enough for Bucky to feel guilty and then he says, “No,” but the lie is ruined with a yawn. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Bucky points out, “I’m sorry, though. You go on back t’sleep an’ I’ll just talk to ya tomorrow.”

“Hey, no,” Steve says quietly, heading Bucky off, “It’s alright.” There’s the sound of the mattress creaking and then Steve’s breath comes out in a tiny huff. “What’s up?”

“I just,” Bucky starts, trailing off when he realizes that he’s – that this is really selfish and not something that he should just spring on Steve. They should probably talk about it first. That’s part of why they’ve got this massive checklist in the first place. 

Steve’s voice comes through the line, deep and amused, “I can hear you thinking from here. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

And maybe it’s the command, maybe it’s not, but Bucky’s blurting, “Tell me,” in that embarrassingly desperate way that he always does with Steve. He wants to know what to do, what Steve’ll say – because he’ll do whatever Steve wants, just like always, and hopefully he’ll make Steve proud and he’ll tell him that he’s good, that he’s a good boy, that he’s _his_ good boy. “Fuck,” Bucky breathes, embarrassed, but hard as hell against his own palm.

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve says, voice full of clarity, “Is this one of those, ‘What are you wearing?’ phone calls? Would you believe me if I said nothing?”

Bucky snorts. “ _No_ ,” he says, “I know ya like to be all warm ‘n’ toasty.”

“You got me,” Steve retorts, “I’m definitely wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. What’ve you got on, Buck?”

Closing his eyes, Bucky does nothing but focus on Steve’s voice, ready to follow orders just as soon as they’re voiced. He keeps his hand curled over his cock but moves neither his hand nor his hips as much as he might want to. “Sleep pants,” Bucky dutifully answers.

“That it?”

At first Bucky nods, and then he realizes that Steve can’t see him – and hell, even if he could, he’d still want to hear Bucky’s voice. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Steve says, and he sounds so warm and safe and pleased, “You touchin’ yourself?”

Bucky lets out a tremulous breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he roughly answers, “Not yet. I…”

“And why’s that?”

“Was waitin’ for you to tell me…” Bucky swallows, unsure how to continue.

Steve’s voice goes low and flirty. “Want me to tell you that you can? Because you can, Bucky. God, when was the last time you came?” he asks, wondering more than anything until he says, “Tell me.”

Bucky swallows a whine. “Tuesday,” he answers, “In the morning. Before I showered.”

“Go ahead and touch yourself for me, Bucky,” Steve orders, his voice softening when he asks, “Were you going through the checklist?”

Gasping at the pressure of his fingers squeezing at his cock, Bucky nods and pants up at the ceiling before he answers, “Yeah. _God_ , Steve.” He doesn’t give in and stroke just yet, teasing more than anything, wanting Steve to really _tell_ him. “Some of that stuff was…but some of it was also real goddamn hot? I – I don’t even know.”

There’s movement from the other line, maybe Steve shifting around to get comfortable, maybe Steve shoving his hands down the front of his sweats. His voice is substantially breathier when he says, “Tell me one thing you want to try,” which makes Bucky think it might be the latter. “Just one.”

“I…” Bucky’s face goes hot with embarrassment and he wets his lips, dragging in a shaky breath. “What if it’s something ya don’t like?”

“Bucky,” Steve says reassuringly, “If it’s something I don’t like then I’ll tell you. We’ll talk about it, maybe come up with something else.” His shrug is nearly audible. “I won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“No, no, I – I know you ain’t like that, Steve.” Bucky runs his fingertips along the shaft of his dick over his pants, shuddering and hissing a curse when the edge of his nail catches on the frenulum. “Know ya won’t make fun of me.”

“Then just tell me.”

Chest fluttering, mind swirling, heart pounding, Bucky takes a deep breath and then blurts, “Panties,” loud enough so that hopefully he won’t have to repeat himself, but quiet enough that he doesn’t feel too embarrassed. “I – I just. I don’t know…” There’s silence from the other end of the line, silence that Bucky can’t decipher. He doesn’t move – he hardly even _breathes_ , waiting for Steve’s response. His chest hitches and his cheeks go hot, his dick beginning to soften with how humiliated he feels. His eyes prickle at the corners, going hot too, and he has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Aw, dammit. See? This is what I was talkin’ about –”

“No, hey,” Steve says breathlessly, “I just – _jeez_ , Buck. That’s…” He swallows audibly; his voice is deep, full when he says, “That’s so hot I can’t hardly…It’s on my list, too, you know. Didn’t know if you’d wanna do it, but wow. Can’t even decide which kind I’d like to see you in – satin, silk, lace. Hell, maybe just plain ol’ cotton. Bet you’d look so pretty for me.”

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, sharp and relieved. Tension in his chest releases, the muscles in his arms and legs and chest going lax even as his abs clench, his dick fattening back up so quick his vision might swim if his eyes had been open. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods, then remembers (again) that Steve can’t see him. “Yeah.” He clears his throat, wets his lips, shifts his hips from side to side and toys with the waistband of his sleep pants. “You wanna see me like that?”

“I really, _really_ do,” Steve answers. 

Faintly, Bucky hears a slick sound and then Steve grunts right in his ear. Bucky slips his hand into his pants, fumbling around for a second before he gets his fingers around his cock. “Shit, Steve.” When he hears the tiniest of groans, Bucky can’t help but rock his hips up into his fist. 

“Hey, I want to try something, Bucky. If that’s alright, of course. Just tell me if you don’t like it, or – just don’t listen to me, I guess. But –”

“Anything,” Bucky agrees, stroking himself a little faster just at the heat and then hesitance in Steve’s voice. It’s so unlike him to sound like he’s not one hundred percent sure of himself, determined to do what he wants, especially when that’s to bring Bucky some form of pleasure. “Hell, _anything_ , Steve.”

“Hands off, then,” Steve orders, voice sharp. 

Bucky complies, his stomach going taut with the sudden lack of pressure and friction, a whine scraping out of his throat before he can help it. “ _Steve_.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Steve says, and Bucky’s throat aches with anticipation, “I’m going to get myself off and you’re going to listen. You’re not going to touch yourself. After I’ve come, I want you to flip over and hump the mattress just the way I know you like. You get two minutes. If you don’t come during those two minutes, then you don’t come at all. Understand?”

By the end of it, Bucky’s trembling with how fucking hot he is. “Yes, si – Steve. Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” Steve says, again sounding so pleased that Bucky’s chest goes achy, stomach fluttering. Steve breathes out a sigh and the slick sounds start up again. “I know you’re gonna be so good for me.”

“I will,” Bucky says, edging on a whine, nodding even as his fingers cramp with how hard he’s clutching at his blankets to keep from touching himself. “I’ll be good.”

“I know. What made you decide on telling me about the panties?”

Bucky shrugs, taking a shaky breath. “I just…I dunno. Maybe it’s the contrast? I got all these muscles an’ it’s obvious I ain’t a girl. But I like to keep my hair long an’, I dunno, I guess I just think they’re pretty.” He takes a breath, says just a touch quieter, “Wanna look pretty for you.” He swallows, hears Steve give a soft groan and that’s enough for Bucky to soldier on. “Wanna wear ‘em under my clothes so nobody knows but you an’ me. Wanna spread out on your bed an’ show you, make you want me so bad you can’t hardly stand it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve breathes, his voice rough when he says, “I already do. Want you so bad, Buck.” 

But he – Bucky wants Steve to want him the way Bucky wants Steve. He wants Steve to be unable to think of anything else but him, nothing but the way he looks, the way he feels, the way he sounds. He wants to drive Steve to the brink with nothing but a look or plea or a slow roll of the hips just the way Steve does to him. He’d do whatever it takes, whatever Steve wants.

“Still wanna suck you off, too, Stevie,” Bucky says, rolling his hips back against the mattress. The upward friction against his pants is just enough of a tease that Bucky thinks he could come if Steve only said the word. “ _God_ , I wanna get my mouth on you so bad. Think I could go under just from that. Want you to –” His breath hitches, eyes fluttering, and has to abruptly stop moving to keep from coming. Steve didn’t say he could. Not yet. “Want you to grab my hair and fuck my mouth, just fuckin’ _use_ it.”

Steve groans so loud that Bucky’s almost afraid that he’s going to wake his Aunt Liza across their apartment. “That’s not all you want,” Steve says, voice so thin that Bucky knows he’s riding the edge, so close. “Tell me, Buck. Tell me what else you want.”

Bucky bites down on a whine, feeling warm and tense, just waiting. “Steve, please.”

“ _No._ ”

Groaning, Bucky bites his lip and brings a hand up to tug his hair. He just wants to come. He needs it. He needs it so bad, he might bust anyway but that wouldn’t make Steve happy, so he can’t. “Want you to come on my chest,” he grits out, breathing fast, “right over that bruise ya gave me. Want you to pet my hair an’ tell me ‘f I was good.”

There’s the familiar hitchy, strained breathing from the other line and Bucky can just imagine Steve’s face as he comes – his brows all pinched and his mouth slack as his tight whines turn into sharp breaths, and Bucky just knows he’s shaking his way through it.

On rote, Bucky’s flipping over, phone still pressed to his ear. He just barely hears Steve’s breathless, “Two minutes,” then the puff of an inhaler. Stronger, Steve says, “I’m gonna do that just as soon as I can, Bucky. Gonna come all over you. Mark you up with some new bruises and come all over those, too.”

Bucky’s hips are working, he’s panting, practically sobbing with each breath and Steve’s words in his ear. “Oh, god,” he mutters against his pillow, wanting so badly to be good for Steve, to deserve him. “ _Please._ ”

“One minute, Bucky,” Steve says in his ear. “You’re so close; I can tell. Think you can do it? You don’t wanna have to wait ‘til you see me to get to come, do you?”

“Please,” Bucky pleads again, desperate as hell. He’s _right_ there. If Steve would just –

“C’mon, I know you can do it. You’re so good, Bucky. You’re so good for me.”

Crying out, Bucky shifts against his bed one last time as the feeling finally peaks, every muscle going taut as he comes hard into his sleep pants, his entire body jolting with each spurt. It feels like it lasts forever, and he’s lightheaded but he can still hear Steve’s voice in his ear, coaxing him through it, telling him to breathe and praising him for doing exactly as he was told. It turns Bucky into a pile of mush, nothing but a set of lax muscles and watery bones. His mind feels fuzzy, almost like when he goes under, and his chest is all full with the way Steve is repeating, “You were so good, Buck; I’m so proud of you,” over and over.

He feels himself sliding into the feeling, happy and grateful and incredibly fulfilled. His limbs tingle and his head feels so light that it’d make him laugh if he could muster up the energy. Hell, he can’t even make his mouth work.

Still drifting, he hears Steve’s voice coming through a little clearer, something about his tone making everything incredibly sharper. Gentle, but commanding, Steve says, “Bucky, I need you to answer me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I w’s…” Bucky takes a hitching breath in and shakily lets it out. “Floating.”

“Be honest with me, Bucky. Sounded like you were crying for a second there.”

All Bucky can say is, “Just. Miss you, Steve.” He wants more than anything to be able to lie down next him, to feel his sharp bones and gentle fingers, to see the sunshine in his blue skies eyes. “Never come back that fast b’fore. Wanna be with you.”

“I know, B. Wanna be with you, too. Do you think it’s because I’m not there with you?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Bucky? I need you to answer me,” Steve says.

“Maybe,” Bucky replies, “I dunno. Want you to pet me.”

“God, I want that, too, Buck. More than anything right now. But I need you to listen to me, okay?” Steve’s voice takes on that tone again, the one that made Bucky come back. “It’s really late. We both need to get some sleep. I want you to text me right when you wake up. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Go to sleep, Bucky.”

“’Night, Stevie.”

 

*

 

There’s a tacky mess in Bucky’s pants in the morning and he wants nothing more than to shove himself out of bed to peel them off. But when he goes to move, his limbs feel heavy and his head feels full of lead, aching so hard that even his teeth hurt. Because he’d promised he would, Bucky sends Steve: _Don’t feel good._

Though his alarm went off ten minutes ago, Bucky lies on his side with his phone clutched in his hand and focuses on breathing through the pounding of his head. Eventually, he sighs and shuffles off to the bathroom to clean up and start his usual routine. By the time he’s dressed, tugging his backpack onto his shoulder, and shoving his feet into his boots, the pain in Bucky’s head is so bad that it’s hard for him to see. He doesn’t even think to take any pills until he checks his phone and sees the: _I’m sorry, B. Feel good enough for school? Take some ibuprofen._

Bucky thinks, petulantly, that he should’ve thought of that himself before he trudges into the kitchen and swallows a couple of the little red tablets. And because he’s always early to school, Bucky waits another fifteen minutes just to see if the medication will kick in even just a little bit, texting with Steve all the while.

They argue about whether Bucky should bother with school – and he really must be in pain because it takes almost nothing for Steve to whittle Bucky down and convince him to crawl right back into bed. 

Before he drops back off into sleep, he sends his mother a text asking her to call in to the school’s office for him (because aside from being four months shy of eighteen and being legally able to do it himself, the secretary, Mr. Phillips, is slightly terrifying with his no-nonsense attitude). 

Quite a few hours later, Bucky awakens to a knock on his bedroom door, tendrils of hair stuck to his sweaty cheeks and forehead.

“Bucky?”

And Bucky must be either hallucinating or still asleep, because that sure as hell sounds like Steve and not one of his parents. “St –” Bucky breaks off into a cough and then tries again, voice scratchy with sleep when he calls out, “Y’can come in.”

Rolling onto his back as the door opens, Bucky shoves his hair off of his face and sits up, the blanket slipping down to pool around his hips. His face feels hot and he feels dumb and small and even kind of ashamed, but he looks at Steve sitting there on his bed and sees nothing but a strange combination of relief and concern. 

_God_ , Steve looks so good. It feels like it’s been ages since Bucky has actually gotten to see him – the little curl of his bangs swept to the side, the loops and hooks in his left ear, the tiny quirk of his lips.

“How you feelin’?” Steve asks, dropping his backpack to the floor and shifting closer to Bucky on the bed. He puts the back of his hand to Bucky’s neck, then cheek, then forehead, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as though Bucky’s wellbeing requires the same level of concentration as one of his drawings. 

Bucky doesn’t – it’s dumb, he knows it’s dumb – he knows that Steve would be hurt if Bucky were to admit it – but he doesn’t feel like he deserves that. He lifts his shoulder in a shrug.

“You weren’t feeling bad on the trip were you?”

Looking down at his hands, Bucky shakes his head.

“So this is ‘cause of the phone call last night then. Hey,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb softly against Bucky’s chin, tilting it to make him meet his eyes, “I shouldn’t’ve yanked you out like that. It’s my fault you’re feeling like this.”

“No, it’s –”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says, cutting Bucky’s protest right in its tracks, “it is. You went under and I should’ve stayed on the phone with you ‘til you came out of it, but I was selfish and wanted to sleep because I felt good. Shouldn’t’ve made you feel like shit for it. I put my own needs ahead of yours and I –” Steve swallows hard, guilt written across every bit of his expression. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t know why, but Steve’s sincerity hits him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him as his face crumples, his eyes prick at the corners. Automatically, his hands come up to hide his face even as his shoulders start to shake. “I’m – I don’t –”

Steve’s thin arms wrap around him, his scent drawing Bucky’s nose straight to the crook of his neck as Steve tugs him, softly saying, “Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Without a clue as to how much time passes, Bucky keeps his wet face tucked into Steve’s neck, crying and shaking and feeling completely stupid and useless until he’s got nothing left. He doesn’t even realize that he’s been repeating apologies into Steve’s neck until Steve gets his hands back on Bucky’s cheeks and presses a kiss to his mouth. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Buck. Just tell me what you need.”

Shivering and still aching, Bucky just says, “Just. Hold me. Please, I’m sorry,” and sighs in content when Steve kicks off his shoes, shuffles up against the headboard, and slips under the covers to hold Bucky against his chest.

The navy sweater is incredibly soft beneath Bucky’s cheek.

“How’d ya know where I live?” Bucky asks. Steve doesn’t respond, so Bucky shifts around, scooting down the bed until his head is pillowed on Steve’s thigh. He repeats himself.

This time, Steve answers, “Morita, actually.” Steve’s hand comes down to push Bucky’s hair away from his forehead, a tease at what could be a sweet slip into subspace. “You’ve got very…protective friends, by the way.”

“Oh, god,” Bucky groans, “Did they give you the shovel talk?”

Steve just smiles his secret smile and says, “I think they’ve been wanting to do it for a while now.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Hey,” Steve says gently, “I was kind of wondering when they’d get around to it. I think Nat and Peggy wanna do the same with you, even though I told ‘em it wasn’t necessary.”

Bucky snorts. “That’s comforting.”

Steve shrugs. “You know they mean well,” he says, “and besides, at least you’re going into it with some warning.” He pets Bucky’s hair back again, his fingers trailing over Bucky’s temples to soothe away some residual tension. His voice can’t be mistaken for anything but teasing when he says, “I didn’t get that luxury,” but it still makes Bucky feel like crap.

His face must drop, or something, because Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair after he says, “I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t know they were gonna do it, did you?”

“No! I swear, I didn’t.”

“Okay,” Steve says calmly, cupping Bucky’s cheek, “That’s exactly my point. You didn’t know any better.”

They lie in relative silence for a while, Bucky trying not to drool on Steve’s jeans while Steve pets at him intermittently, obviously not allowing him to slip free from reality. It’s probably just a handful of minutes before Bucky’s physical needs are letting themselves known. His bladder aches and his stomach growls and Steve’s laughing, bending down to kiss the side of Bucky’s mouth before he gently pushes Bucky off of himself.

When Bucky returns from the bathroom, he asks, “You want to order pizza or something?” and then quickly cringes, saying, “Shit, sorry, I know you, uh.”

Steve rises, coming around to wrap his arms around Bucky’s middle. “It’s okay. I know what you meant and that was very kind of you, thinking of me like that. But actually, I’ve got what’s left of my salad from lunch still in my backpack, so you can do your thing. I’m all set.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says for the millionth time, “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“Subdrop,” Steve says simply, and Bucky thinks, _Right_. “And _I’m_ sorry. Your mood’s gonna be all over the place and you don’t have to apologize for it, okay? If it makes you feel better, go for it. But just know that I don’t blame you for any of this.” 

Bucky sighs. “Okay. Sorry.” 

Steve only kisses Bucky again and pets down the center of his back. Bucky shivers. Breaking away, Steve smiles again and says, “Let’s get some food in you.”

As they’re heading down to the kitchen, Bucky stiffens with the sudden thought that Steve’s going to meet his parents – and like Steve can read his mind, he murmurs, “Relax. I already met them while you were asleep. They’re really nice people – and you look _just_ like your mom.” 

Like her own Spidey sense are tingling, Winnie Barnes leans around the corner of the den and asks, “Are you boys getting hungry? I was thinking about ordering pizza.”

Bucky barks a laugh and Steve smiles softly. “Uh, yeah, Ma,” Bucky says, scratching at his head as she smiles quizzically at them, “Can you get one with lotsa bacon? And pepperoni? Oh, and green peppers?” At Steve’s raised brow, Bucky looks down at his feet and shrugs his shoulders. “What? I’m starvin’. I ain’t eaten all day.”

“You poor thing,” Winnie says, coming over to feel Bucky’s forehead for fever, “Steve, do you have a favorite kind?”

“Oh, I’m fine. But thank you.”

Pursing her lips like she isn’t convinced, Ma says, “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind though. Well, hey, if you boys want, we could order a movie on pay-per-view?” 

Slightly panicked, Bucky makes wide eyes at Steve, hoping to god that he doesn’t actually want to sit down and watch a movie with his parents, and it’s obvious that Steve picks up on Bucky’s distress, because then Steve’s saying, “Uh, no thank you, ma’am. I think Bucky wanted to get started on some of the work he missed today, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, honey,” she says, grinning, undoubtedly, at Steve’s politeness. “You two go on ahead and get your work done; I’ll call you down when the pizza’s here.”

Dragging Steve back to his room, Bucky slumps against the closed door and says, “She was gonna pull out the baby pictures, I just know it.” 

Chuckling, Steve says, “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of those. You saw my damn bowl cut, after all.”

“You were so cute, though,” Bucky says, smiling softly as he remembers. “But, hey, what you said’s true. I do need to get somethin’ done or else I’ll be in a world’a hurt tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Steve says, shuffling towards the bed. He stoops to grab his backpack and hefts it up onto the mattress as Bucky wanders closer. “From what I could tell, we went over something new in Calculus today.” Steve climbs up onto the mattress and scoots toward the far side to leave a space open for Bucky.

After grabbing his binder and textbook, Bucky slides in next to Steve and starts in on learning how to integrate polynomial functions that contain radicals. It’s kind of scary at first, but Steve has a way of explaining the steps to make them sound completely logical and it all just kind of clicks. Bucky gets in the zone, bulldozing his way through problem after problem up until his ma calls him down for pizza. 

“Be right back,” Bucky says, blinking away the blurriness of looking at nothing but small numbers and letters for the past hour.

After they eat food and do more calculus and snuggle a bit more, Bucky finally feels a little closer to normal.

The snuggling devolves into lazy kissing and sneaking some teasing touches. Steve’s got his hand down the back of Bucky’s pants over his under and Bucky’s palming at Steve’s chest, not really as means to get each other off, but more to just reassure with touches. It makes Bucky feel a little more grounded to have his leg hitched up over Steve’s, their faces nudged up too close as they lie side by side. They make out lazily, pulling apart to breathe and exchange questions or comments as the light fades outside. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says in one of the lulls, running his thumb over Steve’s ribs and up to his chest, catching on his nipple every now and again. The inked words don’t feel any different, but Bucky knows they’re there just the same.

“Mm?” Steve’s eyes are all half-lidded in a sleepy, sated way and it makes Bucky suddenly wonder if there’s something similar to subspace for dominants too. He has other questions, though, so he leaves that one on the back burner.

“What’s your tattoo mean t’you? Like…why’d ya get it?”

Steve pulls his hand off of Bucky’s ass and pets it up over the swell of his cheek. “I haven’t told you about my parents yet, have I?”

Bucky shakes his head, suddenly guilty. 

“Hey, no,” Steve says, “It’s alright, really. It was bound to come up eventually. I don’t mind.” He leans in and kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth again before he pulls back, giving a soft smile as he looks down. “I don’t know if you’d believe it, but I got into a lot of fights when I was a kid.”

Unable to help himself, Bucky gives a snort.

“Yeah, yeah, shuddup.” Steve grins, poking a finger into Bucky’s ribs. “Anyway, I got sent to the principal’s office the day before my dad died. Tried to break a kid’s nose for picking on a little girl ‘cause she was chubby, just a little kindergartener, only I couldn’t see for shit – or aim – and ended up busting my knuckles on a tree.” At Bucky’s giggle, Steve says, “Yeah, it was embarrassing.” He twines his fingers with Bucky’s, brings them to his lips and then settles them between their chests. “Anyway, that was the last thing he said to me: ‘Bye, Steve. Be good.’” Steve shrugs. “And maybe it’s ironic, or whatever, but same thing happened with mom. It was just an automatic kind of phrase for them, I guess. Wanting me to stay out of trouble.

“But after Aunt Liza took me in and, uh, put me into therapy,” Steve says, swallowing, “it kinda took on a whole new meaning. It wasn’t just ‘stay out of trouble,’ anymore. After that it became, ‘do what’s right,’ too. Whether that’s by standing up for the little guy, or making friends with a new kid, or…hell, even doing what we do. I know I’m supposed to give it my all, to do my best as long as I aim to be good.”

Bucky leans in and, chest full of pride and grief and – hell, there’s really no point in skirting around it anymore – _love_ for his fella, he presses their foreheads together and says, “You’re really somethin’, you know that, Rogers?”

Steve gives a sweet, sad smile and Bucky knows that the feeling – Steve missing his parents – is acute right now, probably not being helped by the fact that he’s had to interact with both of Bucky’s within the last few hours. As much as his heart aches for Steve, he knows that this isn’t something he’ll ever be able to fully understand. Steve must’ve been barely in the first grade when he’d lost his dad and hardly older than that when he lost his mother. Bucky’s had his for his whole life and even if they died today – which he prays to god that they don’t – even then it still wouldn’t be the same. 

Bucky wants to ask, and Steve must see the hesitation in his expression, reading his mind once again, because he’s saying, “It’s okay to ask, Buck.”

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Bucky says, “I jus’ don’t wanna upset you anymore…”

“It’s alright. It was years ago.” Steve shrugs and brings Bucky’s knuckles up for another kiss. “Yeah, it still hurts and I miss them like they’ve only been gone since yesterday, but that’s no reason to shy away from talking about ‘em.”

Steve inhales heavily and then goes on to answer Bucky’s question.

“Dad was in the military. He’d gotten back from a tour about a month before and he was scheduled to ship out again before Christmas.” He huffs a little laugh and says, “God, you should’ve heard me begging him not to go.” Blinking away a bit of wetness, Steve continues, “Anyway, you wouldn’t think it, looking at me, but he was a tall guy, really strong and the couple of friends I had back then always said that he was scary, but he was really a teddy bear.” Steve swallows. “The doctors said he had a congenital heart disease – stenosis. Means the valves don’t open as widely as they should. But he must’ve never known because neither me nor Mom had ever heard him talk about it or even complain of any symptoms.” 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he just squeezes at Steve’s fingers, so thin and delicate, but full of strength.

“I was born with it, too,” Steve says, looking Bucky right in the eye. “I had a bunch of surgeries when I was really little and I’ve always taken tons of meds for it.” Again, Steve shrugs. “Dad didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky says, voice barely over a whisper. He watches Steve’s eyes flicker to his mouth and then back up, a crease forming between his brows.

“Hey, no, it’s alright. It’s just the truth.”

After a few beats of silence, Bucky clears his throat, hesitantly asks, “What about your ma?”

Steve’s smile gets a little less sad, brightening when he says, “She was a nurse. Very no-nonsense about it, too, but she really loved what she did from what all I remember. Always helping people, even to the very end. She was so selfless.” It’s obviously something that Steve shares, a quality that resonates right from his very soul. “A few months after dad died, she got in a pretty bad wreck on her way to work. I didn’t get all the details, but one of her coworkers, the one she’d been commuting with, told me later on that Mom got out and helped her and then the other family – and didn’t complain for a second until their shift was almost up.”

Again, Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand, at a loss for words. 

“Both of ‘em just dropped dead,” Steve says, eyes wide and searching. It’s the most lost Bucky’s ever seen him look, making his chest clench and his breath seize up in his lungs as he watches Steve’s face. “I’m terrified the same thing’s gonna happen to me, but then…I figure it’s better to go that way. No long, drawn out pain. Just – gone.”

“Jesus,” Bucky chokes out and tugs Steve to him, heart aching like he’s going through all of the stages of grief at once, just at the thought that something like that might ever happen to Steve. The world should never be so cruel to take Steve Rogers away. It’d be a darker place for it. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Steve says, “I’m still here. Everything is still looking good according to my last doctor’s visit.”

For some time, they lie there clutching at each other. Bucky pets at Steve’s back and up into his hair the way Steve does for him and it, the motions, Steve’s subtle reactions to it, ease the ache of Bucky’s heart. 

The somber mood lifts a bit, sunshine sluicing through clouds, when Steve starts asking Bucky questions about his childhood and if he liked the same horribly 90’s and early 2000’s shows like _All That_ and _Kenan & Kel_. It starts them in on shows they watch now – _The Walking Dead_ and _Suits_ (“No, but really – have you _seen_ Gabriel Macht?”) for Bucky, _Justified_ and _Parks and Recreation_ (“Leslie Knope should rule the world.”) for Steve – and both of them trying to explain why their choices are clearly superior. Of course, Steve just ends up suggesting that they call it a truce since they both love _Star Trek: The Original Series_ and then they make plans to watch the other’s favorite shows together at some point in the future.

“You know what I just realized,” Bucky says, running his hand back up under Steve’s sweater. 

“Mm?”

“We ain’t been on a date yet.”

Steve blinks, like it’s something he hadn’t even considered. “Huh. What about that time at the library?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Uh uh, we weren’t together yet.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, lips tugging over in a crooked smirk, “We kind of had sex before we even really talked, so I’m obviously not holding us to any standards.”

Bucky laughs so hard that tears eke out onto his eyelashes and Steve’s smiling softly at him, resting his cheek against his bicep and just watching Bucky. 

“Alright, fair enough. But I still wanna take ya on a date sometime, Stevie.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says softly. Then he leans in and presses another kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I guess I’d better get out of here. I haven’t looked but I bet Aunt Liza’s blowing up my phone wondering where I went.”

Very nearly whining, Bucky lets himself pout just so that Steve will lean in and try to kiss it away. For his efforts, he earns Steve’s hands roaming up into his hair and down his back, settling on his ass just to squeeze. His breath hitches and he accidentally pulls away from Steve, shifting his hips back into the pressure when Steve only tightens his grip. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky breathes, clutching at Steve’s shoulders.

“Nope,” Steve says, tugging at Bucky’s bottom lip with his teeth. “No time. Gotta go.” Disengaging, Steve bends to tug on his shoes and, in a reciprocating echo of the week before, Bucky gropes Steve’s little ass, giggling to himself at Steve’s unamused glare. 

After Bucky walks Steve down – to see a fucking _motorcycle_ on which _of course_ Steve doesn’t wear a helmet – and comes back inside, he’s immediately called into the den to sit and talk with his parents. Whereas he’s kind of expecting the implementation of a “No Closed Doors” policy, his parents instead start raving about how polite and thoughtful his new little boyfriend is, how he’s such a delight and how Bucky should’ve introduced them sooner.

And yeah, Bucky’s almost wondering why he hadn’t.

 

*

 

Howard Stark isn’t a bad guy.

No matter how many times Bucky has explained this to his parents, they always get this suspicious glint in their eyes anytime he so much as mentions his ex-boyfriend. So, it’s to be expected that they’re more than wary when Bucky says that heading over to his house Friday night is part of his plans for the weekend. They’re a little more open to the idea when he mentions that it’s for Natasha’s birthday.

“Will there be alcohol?” Ma asks, her arms still folded and her hip still cocked. 

Bucky scratches at the back of his head. “Probably…”

She eyes him for a few moments, before asking, “And will you be able to stay the night there or do you need me or your father to come pick you up?”

“No, it’s, uh – Monty said he ain’t gonna drink so he’ll drive us back to his place.” Very calmly, Bucky maintains his breathing rate even though he’s hard pressed to hold his breath while he waits for a response. Lying isn’t something he does a lot of, but he usually tends to get away with it.

After a hefty sigh, Winnie Barnes relents with a, “Alright. But if anything bad happens, you’re not leaving the house for the rest of the school year. I _mean_ it, James.” Then she grabs him by the shoulders, tugging him down to kiss the side of his face. “If you end up needing a ride, please just call.” 

“Mom, no, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

“It’s not _you_ I don’t trust,” she says, pulling back to look at his face. “It’s all of those other kids.” 

And god, if that isn’t enough to make Bucky’s stomach curdle with guilt… “Love you, Ma,” Bucky says, looking her straight in the eye. 

“Love you, too, honey. Be safe.”

Unscathed, Bucky traipses to his room and shoots Steve a text: _Your aunt is still working a double this weekend, right?_

_Yeah. Why?_

Smiling to himself, Bucky taps out a quick response of: _Sleepover?_

Two seconds later, his phone is ringing and Steve’s breathlessly asking, “You want to spend the night with me?”

Laughing, feeling downright giddy, Bucky gives an, “Of course, I do.”

Steve sounds just as excited when he says, “Oh, man. So we can come back here after Nat’s party?”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “Means we got all night an’ most of Saturday to do whatever ya want.” A breathless noise escapes Steve and makes the line crackle, and Bucky laughs before he can help himself. “Sounds like ya like that idea, Stevie.”

“You have _no idea_ ,” Steve eventually says. “Ugh, okay. Um. Oh! Did you end up getting Nat that movie?”

Bucky makes a distressed sound. “No, it was sold out literally everywhere I looked an’ it’s too late to order it online now.” He swipes a hand over his face and rolls fully onto his back, staring up at the ceiling above his bed. “But, hey, I was kinda thinkin’ about maybe goin’ to that tattoo parlor an’ gettin’ her like a voucher or somethin’. That way she could get a tattoo or another piercin’ and it’d be all paid for.”

“Bucky, you’re so smart,” Steve says, tone soft as kittens, “That’s a great idea. She’s gonna love that.”

Warming from the soles of his feet to his hairline, Bucky grins to himself and makes a mental note to stop by Ink Inc on his way home from school tomorrow. They chat for a little while longer, discussing possible piercings that Natasha might get – Steve leaning toward eyebrow or Monroe, Bucky adamant about septum – and then Steve talks Bucky through some of the calculus homework that had been stumping him. They go back to texting after Bucky gets called down for dinner and Bucky spends the rest of his Wednesday night scouring through the checklist.

There are just _so many_ things that he hadn’t even thought about – fetishes and objects and power play scenarios – that he spends just as much time looking up what half of the things are before making a tentative decision about whether he’d actually like to do them. By the time he finishes, he’s so tired that he just barely sends the news to Steve before he passes out.

School the next day seems to drag on forever, but Steve and the fellas definitely make it bearable.

It definitely helps when, during sixth hour, Steve sends Bucky a text that says: _South 300s bathroom. Ten minutes._

Bucky must noticeably perk up because Falsworth quirks a brow and teases him up until the moment he requests permission to go. He practically runs to the bathroom, tingling with anticipation and a healthy dose of arousal. 

The second the door creaks open, Steve is dragging him into the far stall, saying, “Don’t make a sound,” as their shoes scuff the dirty linoleum.

That alone nearly makes Bucky moan, so he bites down on his lower lip and swallows all of his other noises as Steve shoves him up against the wall and cranes his neck up to kiss the ever-loving shit out of him. Bucky’s hand reaches out to smack the door closed, flick the lock. The kissing is quick and dirty and Bucky’s never been so turned on in his life, only getting harder when he pulls back to breathe and sees Steve’s pupils completely blown behind his glasses, his lips already swollen all to hell. Bucky drags in a breath and tilts his head back against the textured bricks, lightheaded with how hot this is.

“I mean it,” Steve pants, as his hand drifts down Bucky’s stomach to hook into his waistband, “Not a sound.” 

All Bucky can do – all he’s _allowed_ to do – is breathe loudly as Steve wraps a hand around his dick. 

“Good,” Steve practically purrs, eyeing Bucky’s mouth as he thumbs just under the crown, “ _Damn_ , you’re so hot, Buck. Couldn’t focus on the figure drawing, ‘cause all I could think about was how you looked so much better.”

Bucky’s brows pinch and he trembles, swallowing and panting and choking down his moans.

Someone could walk in at any second. Someone could hear. Someone would see two pairs of boots turned toward one another and _know_.

For some reason, that makes it all the hotter – Bucky clutches at Steve’s shoulders and humps up into his hand, trying desperately not to make a sound. He’s so close already that it’s a damn miracle that he’s not groaning and whining and begging, but Steve said not to. And just like always, Bucky wants to be good, he wants to do what Steve says, he wants to make Steve so proud.

“You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you, Buck?” Steve asks, face tilted up into Bucky’s space. He looks so fucked out, looking from eye to eye and biting at his own lip, and Bucky feels fucking _wrecked_. All he can do is nod frantically and squeeze his eyes shut. “Ah-ah,” Steve says sharply. “Eyes on me. Don’t want you thinking about anything else.”

Bucky’s head swims and his knees shake, but he manages to blink his eyes open and focus solely on Steve. 

And it’s…it’s like something just slides right into place. All of the fear just dissipates and Bucky knows, deep in his soul, that Steve is going to take care of him, that Steve won’t let anything happen. It feels like all of his muscles melt at once, the second Steve says, “Come,” and Bucky does. His pulse is loud in his ears, pounding, but he keeps his eyes on Steve’s, watching his pretty little angel face as he smiles and says words that Bucky can’t make out, but can feel warming him in a burn of sensations in the gentle, coaxing tone. 

After that he couldn’t take his eyes off of Steve if he wanted to, caught in the gravity of his gaze. He cleans Bucky, tucks him back in, rakes his fingers up under Bucky’s shirt as he leans up for more kisses, chaste but coaxing.

When Steve pulls back, Bucky realizes that the stuttered gasps aren’t his, but Steve’s. He can’t even move his limbs, has no idea how he’s still standing, but he wants nothing more than to see Steve go off. He can’t tear his eyes from Steve’s face, though, but knows that Steve must be working himself over because his expression pinches and pinches and pinches, peaks and crests and goes slack as she shakes and it makes Bucky feel good, a long lost echo of Steve’s pleasure.

He must lose a little bit of time after that, because he comes down to the feeling of Steve’s hands petting down his sides, Steve’s face in the crook of his neck. 

“Steve,” Bucky slurs.

“Hey,” Steve says, pulling back to look at Bucky’s face. He still looks messy, his hair disheveled in more than just the ‘rolled out of bed’ way it generally looks, and his lips are still a little puffy. He’s goddamn beautiful. “You back?”

“Mm.” Bucky brings his hand up and runs it through the shorter hair on the side of Steve’s head, thumbing over the pierced shell of Steve’s left ear before he leans in to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Steve.”

Steve laughs, sunshine through the clouds. “Almost, then. You, uh, should probably try to hurry. Don’t want your teacher to send a search party.”

“’s jus’ student council,” Bucky manages. His brain very sluggishly attempts to reboot. “Falsw’th can cover…f’r me.” 

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Bucky comes down enough to glance at his and Steve’s pants to see that there’s, surprisingly, no mess at all. Steve makes him stoop a bit so he can redo Bucky’s bun, and with one last kiss, he smacks Bucky’s ass and sends him back to class in a daze.

Falsworth smirks knowingly and nudges Bucky with his elbow, but doesn’t ask for details until they get to the locker room to change out for the weight room with the rest of the guys. Bucky’s head is still a little foggy, so he parses through them as best as he can, mostly just repeating, “It was so hot,” over and over as he shakes his head and grins like a loon.

After school, Bucky heads to the tattoo shop in the old downtown and, somehow, gets the notion in his head that he wants to set up an appointment for himself in addition to buying Natasha’s voucher. Seeing as how he isn’t eighteen yet, they can’t do that, so he sweet talks his way into putting down a deposit and scheduling it for the day after his birthday.

 

*

 

The second Steve opens the door to his apartment, he’s breathless with excitement, eyes wide and bright behind his glasses when he says, grinning, “I got something for you!”

Bucky, laughing, follows him inside and shuts the door behind himself. “It’s _Nat’s_ birthday, not mine – or didja forget already?”

But Steve’s gone up ahead toward his room and there’s no way he can hear. Rolling his eyes and shuffling after him, Bucky trudges his way into Steve’s room and is surprised when Steve turns to meet him with a massive grin. He urges Bucky to close his eyes and hold out his hand, and of course Bucky complies, chest fluttering with anticipation. 

Two heartbeats later, Steve’s pressing fabric into Bucky’s palm, tips of his fingers grazing Bucky’s. 

Bucky’s breath comes in a stutter. “Steve? Is this –?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “You can open your eyes, by the way.” 

When Bucky does, first looking at Steve to gauge his hopeful expression, and then down to the panties – black cotton, lace trim, all soft and pretty – he can’t help but gasp. Steve got him panties. He holds them out, looking first, and then turning them around and bringing them to his hips to gauge the size, to look up and see Steve’s heated gaze. “These’re real pretty, Stevie.”

“They match, too,” Steve says, smirking, biting down on his bottom lip. “Now, go put those pretty panties on for me, Bucky.” As soon as Bucky turns to comply, Steve’s slim fingers wrap around his bicep and then Bucky turns to see Steve looking him up and down. “I’m really digging the greaser look, by the way.”

Bucky hadn’t even meant to – but the leather jacket, the white t-shirt, the way he rolled up his skinny jeans just enough to show off the laces of his boots, is definitely reminiscent of the 1950’s, if only a little more hipster because of the scarf slung around his neck. He goes into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door just in case Steve wants to sneak a peek, and sheds his boots and jeans and boxers so that he can slowly slide the panties, soft and delicate, up his legs. The tiny holes that make up the lace trimming get caught occasionally on his leg hair and that contrast in itself is enough for his breath to come too quick. It takes a little bit of adjusting, where Bucky has to breathe his way through the acute arousal, before he settles the soft slump of his cock and balls into the pretty black cotton.

In the mirror, Bucky catches his own eye. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark, but there’s a certain serenity already written across his expression, like this is good and right because Steve got them for him, Steve wants him to look pretty just for him.

Slowly, Bucky turns to the side, taking in the bulge of his junk and the lines the lace make against his thighs and the curve of his ass. 

He looks damn _good_.

Very carefully, smiling to himself, Bucky slides his jeans back up, watching the lace and cotton disappear behind the guise of the rougher material and notices that they fit a little differently when he buttons and zips the fly. The denim sits just slightly smoother, less bunched up because of the snug fit of his new panties. Bucky runs his hands down his thighs, wiping off the gathering sweat, and turns again to look at his ass.

“You ready?” Steve calls from his room.

Which, Bucky doesn’t know _why_ because even if he answers, Steve probably won’t be able to hear him. Exiting the bathroom with a fond smile, Bucky stands in the middle of Steve’s room and gives a wide-armed spin, skin buzzing. “How do I look?”

From all the way on the bed, Bucky can see Steve’s quite obviously very pleased. He, deliberately adjusts himself in his pants, and then gets up, crossing over to press himself up against Bucky, arms twining around his middle. “Like _mine_ ,” he says with that secret smile. His hands dip down into the back of Bucky’s pants to palm at the soft black cotton panties. Steve groans and knocks his forehead onto Bucky’s collarbone. “This is gonna drive me crazy, knowing you’ve got these on for me all night.”

Mouth forming a soft curve, Bucky presses his smile to the side of Steve’s head and squeezes around his shoulders in a quick hug before disengaging. “Hey, it was your idea,” Bucky reminds him.

“You’re the one who said panties in the first place,” Steve points out.

Bucky rolls his eyes, tugging his leather jacket on as Steve toes into his boots. “Yeah, yeah. Blame it all on me. Hey, don’t forget your inhaler.”

Though Steve had offered to drive his motorcycle over to Monty’s, Bucky opts to drive simply because he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle the vibrations of the bike at the same time as being wrapped up behind Steve _and_ wearing panties. So instead, he gets to drive with Steve’s hand laid possessively on his thigh for the whole drive, trying to fight down the constant, low-grade arousal that’s been buzzing up his spine ever since he slipped the damn things on. 

The fellas are rowdy, already pre-gaming, by the time Bucky and Steve make it to Falsworth’s house. He’s the only one who’s sober, just as Bucky’d told his parents – that part hadn’t been a lie – and he’d promised he’d take them all wherever they need to go at the end of the night, and Bucky had practically teared up when he said, “Thanks, pal. I owe ya one.” 

Bucky’s jittery and nervous during the ride over to Howard’s, but Steve’s hand is a steadying weight in his own, the guys’ voices mingling with the loud songs playing on the radio just as grounding.

Howard Stark’s house is more the definition of a mansion, spanning tall and elegant and modern with all of its glass windows and stucco detailing. It’s behind a massive wrought iron gate that they chime for entry, giggling to themselves after they input the party-specific security code and a British voice requests that they have a delightful time.

Contrary to popular belief, a lot of people can’t really stand Howard, but a lot of them will do just about anything to be in his presence. There aren’t as many cars as Bucky’s expecting, but there _are_ quite a few parked along the curved driveway. Howard had instructed Monty to park beside the guest house so it’d be easier for them to leave whenever.

As soon as they pile out, they can already hear music pounding from inside, the bass dark and dirty and kind of enticing. Steve keeps hold of Bucky’s hand, the other tucked in the pocket of Bucky’s letterman jacket like he might be a little bit nervous too.

“You made it!” Howard calls just as soon as they enter, already looking slightly disheveled from whoever his partner of the week must be. “The Howling Commandos and our very own Captain America.”

With a wink, Steve gives a jaunty salute and Howard laughs, loud and attractive and attention-drawing. “Nice to see you, Howard. Where’s Nat?”

As they’re being led through the throng around toward the back of the house, where things are decidedly quieter, Bucky leans in and asks, “Captain America?”

Steve laughs. “Remind me to tell you later.”

Even though it’s the beginning of December, quite a few people are gathered around the patio with beers in hand, some even delighting in the heated pool beneath the lights of the faux torches and fire pit. As they cross through the crush of people, accepting a, “Hey!” every few steps from people they have classes with or ones they’ve known for just about forever, Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand just a fraction tighter. He tries not to let the press of the bodies, the noise level get to him. It’s definitely a lot easier knowing that he’s got Steve to ground him, Falsworth to fall back on and get them out of there if things get to be too much.

Howard keeps getting distracted on the way to Natasha, laughing and accepting shots and playing the host until he remembers he has a job to do. Finally, he points with a flourish to the opposite side of the pool, saying, “You guys sit tight; I’ll get you some beers,” before he squeezes Steve’s shoulder and disappears back into the throng.

“Steve! Bucky!” Natasha jumps up from her cushioned wicker chair throne and Peggy’s lap to run over and wrap her arms around their necks, squeezing them tight against her. “You both made it!”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, smiling and swallowing down some residual guilt for begging off last year, “and we bear gifts. Happy birthday, Nat.” He hasn’t seen her show this much emotion in ages, usually preferring to adopt a cool, aloof demeanor because she’s so much cooler than everyone else. (She _actually_ is; nobody can deny that.) But she’s also the biggest dork either of them have ever met, too. It’s a complex balance that Bucky’s pretty impressed that she’s able to maintain.

“You didn’t have to,” she says, voice just a little raspy like always as she accepts the wrapped frame from Steve and the sealed card from Bucky. “Most people just brought extra booze. But thanks.” Then she turns to the fellas and says, “And what did you bozos bring me?”

While the rest of the Howling Commandos stammer and admit a variety of booze, Peggy comes over to hug both Bucky and Steve. She’s looking absolutely radiant – which Bucky feels goes without saying – in a red dress that matches her ever-present lipstick and a sleek pair of black high heels. Her hair is curled in a way that brings out the sharp line of her jaw and cheekbones. She’s such a feminine contrast to Natasha’s boots and leather pants and ripped crop-top, not to mention the fire truck red undercut and piercings, it’s amazing. 

“So,” Peggy says, eyes bright as she looks between him and Steve, “Bucky, how’ve you been? Steve here never shuts up about you.”

Blushing, Bucky smiles and Steve gives his hand a squeeze, not even bothering to deny the statement. “I’m good. It’s been a while, Peggy, but it’s real good to see ya. How’s that psychology class you an’ Nat are takin’?”

Peggy’s grin takes on a megawatt intensity as she goes on to explain, “It’s bloody dreadful but I love it. There’s an incredible amount of reading and a lot of the students are obviously only in it because it’s a requirement, but the professor is adorable and insanely intelligent.” Her eyes dart to where Natasha is punching Dum Dum in the arm. “Can’t say we’re not lucky to already have a leg up on the whole university thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a wry smile, “you’re lucky you already know where you’re going in the first place.”

A sense of relief washes over Bucky. Even though Steve sounds mildly miffed about it, it’s still nice to know that someone so smart and talented and in control as him doesn’t have _everything_ all worked out.

Around thirty minutes later, where Peggy and Natasha leave to flit around the edges of the crowd to accept birthday gifts and well wishes, Howard finally returns with two plastic red cups chock full of what is probably better beer than a high school party warrants. It’s darker than the stuff Bucky had sipped at that party freshman year and definitely better tasting than the Pabst shit that Natasha made him try at the last party he went to junior year. 

Steve’s eyes get a little brighter as they chat, amongst themselves and with the fellas. Eventually, Natasha finds them again and drags them inside with a very nerdy, “Shall we play a game?” 

The lowest level of the house is meant to be a garage. In the open space, there’s a beer pong tournament going on, ten tables and even more puddles of spilled beer and crumpled cans. Natasha’s holding both Steve and Peggy’s hands, so they form a little train to keep from getting separated. 

“Move,” Natasha commands – and they’re probably only sophomores, already tilting kind of dangerously, so Bucky doesn’t feel too bad about it. 

Peggy sets up their cups, six on either side like they’ve been racked on a billiards table, filling them halfway with beer. It’s a lot easier for Bucky to focus on her movements than the bulk of the people in the stretch of what would normally be filled with cars of all makes and models and years – that Bucky remembers with a sharp breath and a blush on his cheeks – and it definitely helps when Steve’s hand slips up under his jacket to finger at his waistband.

Steve leans in, lips catching Bucky’s skin, breath warm against Bucky’s ear when he says, “Fuck, you’re so hot, B.” 

“None of that, Steven Grant, we’ve got a game to play!” Peggy says, pinching his cheek before winking at Bucky. “Need you all here so it’s fair when we wreck your arses.” 

Cheeks aflame, Bucky averts his eyes and bites down on the panic in his chest, taking another gulp of his beer. He vaguely hears Steve chastise her, whip-crack sharp but low enough so as not to make a scene – and something about it gets Bucky’s blood rushing in his ears. People begin to gather just as soon as Natasha returns with the ping pong balls, nailing Bucky right between the eyes with one. His hand shoots out to catch it and the onlookers’ laughs turn into impressed oohs. 

Bucky’d never gotten the knack of the game – because he’s really not one much for crowds, let alone parties – the one time he’d played it, but he soon figures out that it’s all about physics. 

It’s not all that surprising, to Bucky anyway, that he sinks the most shots when he takes an extra few steps back for arc shots. For each ball that bobs into the beer, he gets an enthusiastic squeeze from Steve and a wild grin that promises all of the things he’d like to do the moment they get out of here beneath the cacophony of cheers and other games. Natasha matches Bucky, shot for shot, and Steve and Peggy almost alternate exactly on hits and misses. 

Steve gives a little good-natured shit-talking, leaning heavily on Bucky even when it’s his turn and then apologizing with a half-lidded, rosy-cheeked grin. 

“Are you gettin’ drunk, Stevie Rogers?” Bucky asks, poking him in the collarbone just to watch him sway. 

Eyes on Bucky’s mouth, Steve blinks and asks him to repeat himself, laughing and nodding when he finally understands. “Little bit.” He leans in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s middle and rests his head against Bucky’s chest. 

Bucky, not even thinking about it, presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and then rests his chin on top of Steve’s head. 

“How fucking cute is that,” Natasha says, smirking as she sinks another shot. The ping pong ball spins around just below the rim of the cup before it dips into the beer. “Trying to distract me? It’s not gonna work, Barnes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve butts in, smirking right back and – oh, god, Bucky knows that glint; it means there’s a challenge that Steve Rogers has no intention of backing down from – then he’s on his tip toes, grabbing Bucky’s face and tilting it down to meet his.

For a handful of moments, everything fades out but the feeling of Steve’s fingers against his face, the bitterness of beer on their tongues. His head’s a little fuzzy from the alcohol and Steve’s not helping with the way he’s groping down over Bucky’s ass and biting down at Bucky’s lower lip. He swallows down a groan and lets his own hands wander a bit farther than they probably should in public. 

In _public_. Where they are. With friends and acquaintances and strangers watching.

That thought shouldn’t make Bucky as tingly as it does, but he’s got a nice buzz going and Steve’s tongue in his mouth so he _really_ doesn’t care.

“Alright, alright,” Peggy says breathily – and they pull apart, Steve laughing and Bucky watching him with a slack mouth. “Shit, Nat, can we –”

“Yeah.” Natasha’s voice is tight, strained. “ _Fuck_.” They disappear and their end of the table gets swallowed up by the next rowdy group of what might be juniors vying for a rank among the best of the best. 

Bucky’s cheeks flare red but he lets Steve drag him away in the midst of all of the hooting and hollering. They end up back upstairs on the ground level of the house, music blaring, people smoking and drinking and making out against any available surface. It’s a typical Howard Stark party; the only difference is that there’s a massive table set up for all of Natasha’s presents. Of course, it’s mostly full of various types of vodkas and rums and 30-racks, but there are a few gift bags too. 

There’s dancing everywhere, people shoving up against each other, grinding and shouting dirty things in each other’s ears over the pumping music. It’s loud and the crowd seems to pulse, grow, mutate into something massive and cloying. 

“You want some water or somethin’?” Bucky shouts into Steve’s good ear over all of the noise and the choking beat of his heart.

“What?”

“Water! Do ya want water?”

“Oh,” Steve shouts back, looking muzzy but pleased. He sways a bit to the rhythm of the music, just a bit off, but uncaring. “Yeah!” 

After a second, Bucky realizes that Steve isn’t going anywhere, so he says, “Alright, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Their cups had been abandoned back in beer pong land and Bucky wouldn’t feel comfortable using them again anyway. Party logic dictates that they can’t drink from cups they’d sat down, regardless, so Bucky turns to wind his way through the rooms to the kitchen. 

There’s a swell of noise, the tide of bodies shifting so hard all at once that Bucky’s nearly knocked completely off-balance. It turns into a whirlpool, sucking him in closer and then further away, a frustrating perpetuity until he’s shouting, “Excuse me!” and shoving his way through the same way he does on the football field, shoulders and elbows and a destination in mind. He breaks through soon after that, breathing hard as he zones out and nabs two bottles of Perrier from Howard’s fridge. 

Bucky takes a deep breath before he braves the current once again. 

He’s edging on panic before he even returns to the spot he’d last been with Steve to see that he’s not there. Breaths come quick, his chest tightens, and his vision goes dark around the edges as he casts looks over the heads of drunken teens only to come back empty. All Bucky hears is his heartbeat, deaf to everything else. His fingers and toes tingle and he chokes on his next breath, the word, “Steve,” trapped behind his teeth.

There’s a fuzzy film, a haze between himself and someone he might know too close to his face, looking concerned and almost scared. 

It’s a belated second before Bucky realizes that he’s having a panic attack.

He’s going to die. He needs Steve.

Sweating, shaking, breathing hard, Bucky stumbles and tries to find a place that’s quiet, devoid of bodies. He needs to find Steve. Steve is somewhere in the house, and Bucky needs him. He needs him to be here.

“Ste – I need ‘m,” Bucky tries to say to whoever will listen, “Where’s –” He can’t suck in a full breath, can’t walk anymore so he stumbles to a wall, slides down it and stares at his knees until he remembers what he’s supposed to do. 

Breathe. He’s supposed to breathe in – and hold it. Breathe out. 

“Bucky?”

Breathe in – hold it – breathe out. Slower.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says, blue eyes shining beneath the dim light of Howard Stark’s foyer. “Hey, you with me?” 

There are people milling through, awkward and staring and Bucky wants to bites curses out at them just as much as he wants to go home and never show his face in public again. He scrubs at his face, pushing his hair back from his face with the swipe of both hands. Bucky’s still breathing too hard to talk, focusing on slowing the pace to steady. Steve’s hand is hovering, unsure, and Bucky wants to cry.

“Can I touch you? Is that alright?” Steve’s voice is gentle, close but not close like whoever had been in Bucky’s face. “I wanna get you outta here.”

Bucky nods. “Okay.”

He still can’t make his eyes focus properly, but Steve’s hand is a steadying, guiding weight on his shoulder. The waters are still clutched too-tightly in his fists. Steve coaxes them out of Bucky’s grip once they’re sliding their backs down the wall in a semi-secluded nook – just off the formal dining area, if Bucky’s memory serves him correctly. He cracks the seals and hands one back to Bucky, with a simple, “Sip.”

Silence hangs between them, but the music is still loud from across the house. Steve taps the beat with his finger against the side of his water bottle.

“Fuck,” Bucky eventually says, screwing the cap back on the water. He sets it down and it tips over, rolls between his thigh and Steve’s. He sighs. 

Steve rights it, sets his own down next to it. He takes Bucky’s hand again. “That was a panic attack,” he says more than asks. 

“Yeah.” Residual tremors wrack through his hands and he hates it.

“Had ‘em before?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah.” 

He sees Steve nod in his periphery, still staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. There’s an ornate vase nestled between stacks of pale china, a red plastic cup set precariously on the hutch’s edge just beside it. “You gonna be okay?” Steve asks, stroking his thumb over Bucky’s. “Wanna leave?”

Again, Bucky sighs, feeling dumb and guilty. “It’s too early. Nat’d kill me.”

“Hey,” Steve says, “I’m pretty sure she’ll understand.”

Steve sips at his water. Bucky turns his head just enough to watch the line of Steve’s throat as he swallows, the bead that dribbles out as he pulls the bottle’s lip from his mouth. Some of the tension ekes out of Bucky’s bones. “If – I needta say goodbye to her.”

“Okay. Want me to find her and bring her here, or…?”

“No,” Bucky says resolutely, “I’ll be – I’m fine. I can – I just. Don’t let go?”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze, smiling soft and muzzy. “Never will.”

Though he’s tiny and definitely not a fullback, Steve’s efficient at clearing a path for them on the way back through the crowd. Bucky keeps his eyes unfocused to stave off another wave of panic, stopping when Steve stops, walking when Steve walks. He hears the intermittent, “Have you seen Natasha?” and, “Have you seen Howard?” and, “Have you seen Falsworth?” that Steve shouts to the tipsy teens, but it’s still a fuzzy, far-off thing. He can’t breathe if he thinks too hard, so he doesn’t think at all.

They eventually find Natasha, who’s curled up back on the wicker chair out back with Peggy, smoking a cigarette with heavy eyelids and an expression that makes it no secret what they’d gotten up to in the interim. She hugs Bucky’s neck, which is only a little awkward because of how Steve won’t let go of him for anything, but then she kisses Steve’s cheek and says, “See you tomorrow?” to him before she returns to Peggy’s lap. 

“Hey,” Steve says, rubbing his thumb across Bucky’s again, “Why don’t you text Monty and see if he can meet us out front?”

Bucky nods, sends a quick message and then shows Steve the: _Thank heavens. These aren’t nearly as much fun sober._

Steve laughs and tugs Bucky toward the front of the house – but they stop so abruptly that Bucky bumps into Steve, zoning back into all the noise and chaos. 

“Did you seriously just do that?” Steve is asking, squeezing so hard at Bucky’s hand that he can feel the bruises rising to the surface.

He’s addressing Obadiah Stane, who’s Howard’s best friend and, incidentally, one of the linebackers that helped them gain their winning season. Obadiah is red-faced, well into shit-faced territory whereas Bucky feels startlingly sober right about now. He’s swaying toward Steve, his bulk casting a shadow over them. “What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“You,” Obadiah says, swaying dangerously close as he pokes a meaty finger into Steve’s chest, “can fuck right off.” 

“Hey!” Bucky says sharply, “Back the fuck off. Ain’t had a problem with you before; don’t wanna have one now.”

“W’s gonna happen if I don’t, huh?” Stane slurs, smirk like a snarl on his mouth, “Gonna sick your guard dog on me? Y’gonna cry like a little bitch again?”

Steve doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand even as he takes a swing at Obadiah’s face, cracking him right across the chin even though that in itself is quite a stretch. There’s noise in the background, but Bucky doesn’t hear it – reacting the moment Obadiah’s fist comes down heavy against Steve’s nose by dropping Steve’s hand, doling out a sharp jab to the guy’s ribs, cracking him in the face with his elbow and then landing a solid punch to his cheek. Bucky’d keep going, he’d rip this asshole to shreds for hurting Steve – but then there’s rising noise, Howard and half the Commandos arriving just in time to pull them apart before Obadiah has time to recover. 

Bucky’s chest is heaving and he’s seeing red. He turns to Steve, ignoring the throb in his knuckles and the other voices in his ears trying to ask what happened. “Fuck.” He watches blood seep between Steve’s fingers, “D’s it feel broken?”

Steve shakes his head and removes his hand with a swipe through the blood. It’s a stark contrast to his pale skin and it makes Bucky wheel around again, ready to take another swing – but then Gabe’s there, right in his face saying, “Y’gotta cool it, Barnes.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky spits. This time when he turns, it’s to guide Steve out of the damn house by the shoulder, uncaring of the wake of trailing eyes and whispers. 

Monty’s down the driveway by the guest house and the moment he sees the two of them, Bucky with his split knuckles and Steve with the cut across his nose. “What in the bloody hell happened to the two’a you?” 

“Stane,” Bucky grits out as they pile into his car. “Asshole punched Steve.”

“Asshole was picking on Bucky,” Steve amends, tilting his head back to staunch the flow.

And hell, Bucky hadn’t even known. He wouldn’t’ve _cared_ , either way. “Jesus Christ, Steve. Seriously? You really think it’s okay to take a swing at a fella ‘cause he’s makin’ fun’a me?” He’s already feeling better with the damn mansion in the rearview, the thought of curling up in Steve’s bed dead ahead, but he’s still _pissed_. He rips off a corner of his shirt, not even thinking about it, and tilts Steve’s face toward him. “What the hell were you thinkin’?”

Steve hisses, head tilted back as Bucky dabs at his nose. “Don’t like bullies.”

“Don’t think they much fancy you either, Cap,” Falsworth adds from the driver’s seat.

Laughing, Steve says, “Fuck, _ow_ ,” and then just takes the cloth from Bucky to roll it up and shove it into his right nostril. Bucky lets his hands fall to his lap. “He deserved it.”

“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky says, “He’s twice your size! He could’a really hurt you.”

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve replies. 

Groaning, Bucky slumps against the car door, suddenly so exhausted that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep his eyes open for the rest of the ride home – to Steve’s. To _Steve’s_. They’re going to Steve’s.

The moment they pull up and pile out, Monty’s saluting them with a grin and pulling back out. Steve just takes Bucky’s hand and drags him inside, into the elevator, into the apartment. 

Steve leans in to kiss Bucky the moment the door’s closed, hissing again because he’d forgotten about the fabric in his nose and he looks so dumb that Bucky can’t help but laugh. That gets Steve laughing too and then whining more about the pain in his nose.

“I’m still mad at you,” Bucky says, even as he’s smiling and crossing to the kitchen to wet some paper towels to clean up the carnage. “You did somethin’ real dumb and I ain’t havin’ it. I can fight my own battles, Steve. You don’t gotta do it for me.”

“Yeah, well I’m not going to apologize for doing what’s right. He thinks he can make fun of whoever he wants, and that’s not something I’m gonna stand for.” 

Bucky just sighs and tosses the bloodied cloth into the trashcan, swiping gently at Steve’s nose and cheeks before he says, “You should probably wash your hands, too. Got blood fuckin’ everywhere, Stevie, jesus.” 

It’s not until Bucky’s trudging his way into Steve’s room, toeing off his boots, ditching his jacket and his ripped shirt that he realizes he’s still wearing _panties_. He’s got his pants about halfway down his ass when Steve walks in, mostly all cleaned up apart from where the cut’s trying to scab across his nose. 

“Fuck,” Steve says, deflating, “I forgot.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says, slipping his jeans the rest of the way off. “I ain’t really in the mood right now anyway. Can we just…I just –”

“Hey,” Steve says softly, an echo of earlier, “Whatever you want, Buck.”

Bucky sighs and smiles just as softly in return, albeit a bit reluctantly. “I’m leavin’ ‘em on,” he says before he dives onto Steve’s bed, rucking up the covers as he watches Steve re-dress in a hoodie and sweats. “You can wreck ‘em in the mornin’.”

Steve doesn’t say anything as he shuts off the light and crawls in behind Bucky, wrapping his arms around his middle, but Bucky can definitely feel the wood Steve’s sporting, so he knows he heard. 

Bucky falls asleep wearing nothing but black cotton panties and a smile.


	7. panties and floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mm,” Steve hums into Bucky’s skin as his fingernails play at the sensitive skin of his hips. “Still want me to wreck those panties, B?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, but I caught the deathflu from one of my sisters and I am probably going to die. Check the tags for updates!

The soft croon of his name and lips gentle against the back of his neck coax Bucky slowly from the fading clutch of sleep. Steve’s fingers are cold, but his touch is warm. “You ‘wake?” Steve murmurs. He nuzzles closer into the crook of Bucky’s neck, tip of his nose a cool pressure. “Y’still pissed at me?”

Even as he’s reaching back to tenderly touch Steve’s wrist, Bucky mumbles a muzzy, affirmative sound. “You’re damn right I am,” he eventually answers on the tail end of a huffed breath, voice rough and raw from sleep. 

Steve kisses the curve of Bucky’s neck, wet and soft like he’s something precious. “Hmm, well how about I do something to make you just a little less sore at me?” With his tone dropped low like that, it’s all Bucky can do to keep his movements to little more than a bare shiver. His cold fingers trail over Bucky’s stomach, leaving a wake of goosebumps. They edge beneath the lace waistband and Bucky’s breath catches hard. “I keep thinking about that phone call…”

“Yeah?” The muscles in his stomach jump and he squirms backward just a bit just to feel Steve’s morning wood tenting his sweatpants, the tiny bit of belly skin where the hoodie is rucked up. 

“Mm,” Steve hums into Bucky’s skin as his fingernails play at the sensitive skin of his hips. “Still want me to wreck those panties, B?”

Breathing a quiet, “Fuck,” Bucky tries to twist around in Steve’s grip, but is stopped by a firm pressure on his hip. He whines, then asks, “You gonna do the other stuff too?”

Steve finally dips his fingers into the cotton to wrap around Bucky’s dick as he says, “I’m gonna take care of you.” The gust of his breath smells like mint but Bucky’s too lax from sleep to chase the scent. He lets it wash over the side of his face before Steve’s teeth ease down against the corded muscle of his shoulder, scraping in a steadfast promise. “Think you can go under just from this? Like the way you did in the bathroom at school the other day?”

Bucky chokes on a whine, remembering the heat and pressure of Steve all along his front and the searing kisses. “Maybe,” he says. He grabs for Steve’s wrist, fumbling to show Steve just what he wants. A huff of breath, weighty and sharp, casts over Bucky’s neck and then Steve’s burying his face against Bucky’s shoulder. 

“ _Damn_ ,” Steve breathes out, “You want me to keep you quiet?” 

Bucky wriggles again, Steve’s cock nestling just perfectly into the valley of fabric stretched over Bucky’s ass. His reverent, “Oh, god,” goes amiss, muffled against the heel of Steve’s palm. “I don’t know.”

“Or do you want to be loud since it’s just you and me and these pretty little panties?” One hand plays at Bucky’s lips while the other readjusts the weight of Bucky’s dick, edging out of the underwear to stroke the outline of him over the fabric. It’s just a little damp from sleep-sweat, but the bead of precome that Steve works out of the tip of Bucky’s dick is what makes the slide of his fist so sweet.

Bucky groans. 

“See,” Steve says, lips catching on Bucky’s skin with the word, “because I kinda want to hear more of that.” 

Automatically, Bucky says, “Whatever you want, Stevie.”

This time, Steve’s the one groaning from deep in his throat, chest rumbling against Bucky’s back. “Do you want to know what’s going to happen?”

They’d talked a little bit about their lists over the course of the week, discovering that Bucky’s kink streak might be a little wider than they’d both been expecting but that Steve is more than willing to compromise on things. They’d discussed words and gestures and phrases they’ll use to check in on one another, to slow things down or stop them completely. They’ve talked about hard limits – ones that either make Bucky gag to think about or ones that’d make Steve feel too much like a bully – and the softer ones that they can edge right up against. Steve, though he’d mentioned sometimes wanting to surprise Bucky with their scenes, had been very understanding when Bucky’d explained how severe his anxiety can get sometimes, how some days it helps to know what’s going to happen, what’s expected of him. 

“Yes,” Bucky says, voice loud and a bit shaky, “Please.” 

The line of Steve’s nose trails from Bucky’s nape to his shoulder as he presses light kisses against the skin. “The panties are staying on,” he says, “but you already knew that.” Bucky feels Steve’s smile, the tip of his tongue as he presumably wets his lips. Steve’s voice is nearly sing-song, he sounds so damn giddy. “But first things first, I want you on your back. Can you do that for me?”

Eyes fluttering open, Bucky shifts just out of Steve’s embrace and –

“Oh, Stevie,” he says softly, reaching up to touch the edge of the bruise formed just beneath his left eye, coloring dark enough to wash out the freckles over the bridge of Steve’s nose. 

Steve doesn’t so much as flinch or hiss, but Bucky can see some of the heat leave his gaze. His hand gently wraps around Bucky’s, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s palm before he guides it down to the bed. “Swear I’m fine, Bucky.” His lips curve in that familiar, tiny smile that makes Bucky’s chest flutter no matter how many times he’s seen it. 

“Okay.”

Bucky must not sound too convincing, because Steve leans down to kiss away some of the residing tension, slipping his fingers into Bucky’s hair and cradling his jaw. It’s all too easy for Bucky to go lax after that, wrapping his arms around the curve of Steve’s back and coaxing him into settling down closer. His tongue slips into the mint of Steve’s mouth, hopefully masking his own sleep-sour breath, tracing the lines of Steve’s perfect teeth until he pulls just far enough to be out of reach. When Bucky tries to lean up, Steve’s shrugging off Bucky’s arms to pin his wrists to the pillows. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Steve breathes, staring down at Bucky with pupils gone unnova. “No, okay.” His fingers flex, ten stretches of pressure that make Bucky shift restlessly against Steve’s mattress. “You know how you look right now? Spread out under me in my sheets…damn. So pretty in your little panties, Buck.” 

He squirms a bit, settling a bit more comfortably over Bucky’s hips, letting him feel the thickening line of his cock.

“You’re not gonna move your hands from those pillows, you hear me?”

Bucky nods, sucking his lower lip in to chew on. Steve releases his wrists and Bucky keeps them anchored, already feeling the fuzz from following orders start in at the edges of his mind.

“Good boy,” Steve murmurs, petting with both hands in a slow slide down Bucky’s chest. “Last night you said you wanted me to wreck your panties. Still want that?”

Again, Bucky nods, but Steve doesn’t say anything, too busy watching the way Bucky’s nipples pebble up beneath Steve’s fingers raking softly down his chest. Steve gives one a pinch and Bucky jolts. “ _Yes_ ,” Bucky says.

“I almost wanna see you in these and the leather jacket. _Shit_ , you looked so hot last night, Bucky.”

“Dammit – _Steve_ ,” Bucky whines, shifting with impatience.

Laughing, delighted at his teasing, Steve says, “Alright, alright,” and pets down Bucky’s stomach to the line of the panties at his hips. The heat in his eyes flares up a couple of notches, smothering the playful mirth as Bucky shifts his hips restlessly. Steve’s mouth goes a little slack as his fingers play at the defined line. “Gonna get my mouth on you through these,” he says, squeezing Bucky’s dick through the cotton. “If your hands leave those pillows, my mouth is gone. Understand?”

Bucky’s throat clicks as he swallows drily. “Yes, Steve.”

“Good,” Steve says, shifting so that he’s between Bucky’s legs, edging down the mattress on his belly. “You can be as loud as you want. But you’d better remember to ask me nicely whenever you want to come.”

Whereas Steve’s fingers are generally little ice pops because of his poor circulation, his mouth is a different story altogether. The second it descends onto the fabric, a warm, damp heat permeates through and makes Bucky’s head tilt back, dizzy, as he groans up at the ceiling. “Oh, my god,” Bucky breathes, stomach clenching as Steve laves over the head of his dick, squeezing at the base with one hand while the other rakes over his stomach. It takes all the willpower in Bucky’s bones to keep from reaching down to card Steve’s golden hair, soft and messy and perfect. Steve’s eyes are closed, dark lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. Bucky’s never seen a prettier sight.

After a few more minutes, where Bucky just stares slack-mouthed and dizzy, Steve starts making noises like he’s not satisfied. Like he wants _more_. He pulls off and the fabric immediately feels too cold stretched over the scorching skin of Bucky’s cock. Steve grunts, “Legs up,” and smacks lightly at Bucky’s thigh.

When his feet get planted near Steve’s shoulders, Steve groans, smiling wider at the access. “Much better,” he says, petting over Bucky through the panties. He mouths at Bucky’s balls, heavy and aching, and the other dips down to thumb over the sensitive skin just below. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky shouts, groaning and then heaving a shaky breath. His cock’s leaking steadily, slickening the humid space left in the wake of each of Steve’s slow strokes and he feels like he’s going to _die_.

Steve’s mouth is all pretty and red stretched over Bucky’s balls and the dark cotton, such a lovely contrast that Bucky has to groan up at the ceiling again. The moment it pops off, Bucky’s looking back down at Steve, not even trying to hide the distress in his expression.

Steve, the little bastard, just huffs a laugh and buries his face in the crook of Bucky’s groin. “Chill, Barnes,” he says playfully, petting over Bucky’s perineum again. “Got some other plans. Want me to play with your sweet little hole?”

Tossing his head back and cursing, Bucky’s hard-pressed not to come just from _hearing_ those words leave Steve’s mouth. His balls ache and his cock throbs, making his asshole clench just below Steve’s thumb. Bucky nods and babbles out something affirmative.

“You beg so pretty, Buck.” Steve presses a kiss to the sopping fabric over Bucky’s balls – making his body wrack with a shudder – and kisses down the line of his perineum. “Still with me?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m golden,” Bucky babbles breathlessly. He’s restless, tilting his hips to get Steve just a little closer to where he wants him – and he _does_ ; he wants it so bad. “Please, Steve, please, I – I want.”

“I know, B,” Steve croons and then – vision going hazy gray for a moment – licks a fat stripe up the crease of Bucky’s ass, pulling back to groan at the same second as Bucky. Like he can’t help it, like he’s _hungry_ for it, Steve buries his face against the thin fabric covering Bucky’s ass, licking and sucking and using his teeth just to get Bucky to shake and cry out. With no warning, he pulls the panties to the side and laves a wet trail from Bucky’s hole up to his balls and – Bucky _shouts_. Steve just moans like he can’t get enough, pulling off with a slick noise to gravel, “Fuck, you taste so good,” before diving right back in.

Bucky’s vision sparks at the edges and he chokes out a wheezy breath when Steve laps at his hole. “ _Fuck_ ,” he grits out, wriggling his hips into the pressure of Steve’s tongue. 

Steve’s breathing hard when he pulls back, his thumb replacing the slickness of his tongue, edging right up against the pucker. It clenches and unclenches and Bucky shivers, Steve’s eyes pinning him as he applies pressure. “Still remember when I made you play with yourself…damn, I’m almost tempted to make you do it again,” Steve says, before leaning down to tongue at Bucky’s balls again, “but I think – no, hey, can you flip over for me, baby?”

Heart stuttering, Bucky shakily does as he’s told even as his cheeks heat at the endearment. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers. 

As soon as he’s just the way Steve wants him, ass in the air with his back arched and his wrists pinned right back to the pillows, Steve’s groaning and saying, “ _Good boy_ ,” right before he presses his face against Bucky’s crack through the panties again. And – _Jesus H. Christ_ – he’s just going for it, like there’s nothing else he’d rather do, nowhere else he’d rather be in this world but with his face buried against Bucky’s ass. 

Bucky’s skin buzzes. Sweat beads up at his temples, dampening his hair.

He can feel that the fabric is getting all stretched out, loose around his cock even as Steve reaches down to ruck it over to the side again. Bucky’s got no idea what he says when Steve licks from his balls up to his hole; he just knows that it’s _loud_ , hardly muffled into Steve’s pillow at all. He feels it when Steve moans, has to clench his fists tight and bear down to keep from reaching back to spread himself open, get Steve’s tongue deeper, or maybe his fingers, his cock – _anything_.

But then he remembers. Steve told him not to – so he can’t – _won’t_ – because he’s good, he’s a good boy, and.

The edges of Bucky’s vision start to blur and he can feel the telltale tingling fuzziness that means he’s starting to slip. “St – Steve,” he stutters, breathing hard into the pillow.

“Need more?”

“I – I’m slippin’ – don’t wanna yet – need ya to —”

“Alright,” Steve says, petting over Bucky’s flank. “I’ve got you. Want me to make you come before you go under?”

“I…think so. I-I don’t know.” Bucky tries to focus his eyes on Steve’s nightstand, the posters farther away, the mess of clothes on a chair near the door. He tries to ground himself in something other than Steve while still being good for him and he doesn’t think there’s ever been anything harder. 

Steve’s hand is still gentle, warm, soothing. “Hey,” he says softly, “We’ve got all day. It’s okay if you do. No need to fight it.”

After a steady inhale, Bucky shakily nods.

With no warning, Steve’s heat is gone from behind him, but then he’s coming around to the side of the bed, stripping off the hoodie before he’s rummaging in the nightstand. “Just fingers,” Steve says, “but I’m going to keep using my mouth on you. Remember what I said?”

Again, Bucky nods. Steve quirks a brow, and something about the expression makes Bucky’s breath catch and then he’s saying, “Yes, sir,” before the thought even registers. There’s fuzz and a little dissociation but Bucky’s able to sift through it, to swallow and then say, “Ask you before I come.”

Steve swoops in quick, pink-cheeked, kissing Bucky on the sweaty temple as he slings an arm around his shoulder, still just kneeling against the bed. “That’s my good boy,” he says, nuzzling against Bucky’s hair. “ _God_ , what’d I do to deserve someone as perfect as you…You are, Bucky. You’re perfect for me.” 

Moaning, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the praise and pants against the pillow. He hopes that Steve’ll get on with whatever he’d been about to do because anymore of that and it’ll be too late for Bucky to beg.

“ _Shit_ ,” Steve says, and when Bucky opens his eyes again, he looks more than a little ruffled. 

He watches as Steve strips his shirt off, revealing the thin bones and dips and valleys and scars shone pale in the morning light creeping through the slats in the blinds. Again, Bucky’s breath catches. He’s never seen anything so perfect. Beautiful and perfect and _his_ , in whatever sense Steve will allow and Bucky still doesn’t understand how this all came to be. _He’s_ the one who should be asking what he did to deserve Steve – righteous, stubborn little shit that he is. But his mind’s still too fuzzy and then Steve’s disappearing again.

Steve’s hands have warmed up quite a bit since they’ve started, coaxing heat into the chilled skin of Bucky’s hips as he kneels up behind him, petting up and down over the sides of the panties and Bucky’s muscles. 

“So pretty,” Steve says, bending to press his bare chest to the dip of Bucky’s spine, his lips to the bottom curve of Bucky’s shoulder blade. His hands trail around Bucky’s front, urging his hips back to meet up with Steve’s in a sweet little reunion. Only it’s different this way, Steve draped over him like a tiny blanket, warm and safe. He coaxes them into a smooth, undulating rhythm, thrusting in his sweats against Bucky’s panties. Steve buries a groan against Bucky’s skin. “God, you feel so good.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut when he whines against the pillow. It’s sweet and damp when it returns to him. “ _Steve_.”

A huff of a breath, a quiet curse greets him. “On your back again, Bucky,” Steve says, grinning as soon as Bucky complies. “Gonna finger you while I suck you off, okay? The minute you feel like you want to come, you’d better ask. I mean it, Bucky. No surprises.”

“Yes, yes, okay, I’ll be good,” Bucky babbles, wriggling his hips and ready to do or say anything just to get Steve to put his hands back on him.

And _God Almighty_ , those hands. Bucky’s had a thing for them since day one and just the thought alone of Steve getting those long, gorgeous fingers deft with talent inside of him is almost enough to be his undoing. 

Just as Steve settles back between Bucky’s thighs, he’s squeezing at Bucky’s cock and then – frowning. He shuffles back up, just far enough to reach for Bucky’s wrists, a sly smirk morphing his expression as he drags them down to Bucky’s chest. “Play with those for me, yeah?” With a wink, he’s shifting back between Bucky’s thighs, curling his hands into the waistband of Bucky’s panties to free his cock.

Bucky groans.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Steve says sternly.

The tone makes Bucky’s stomach flop, his thighs tense up beneath Steve’s elbows. “Oh, fuck,” Bucky breathes, stroking his fingers over the sensitive tightened flesh of his nipples. Lightning sharp zings of pleasure shoot down to the pit of his gut and that, coupled with Steve mouthing at the bare head of his cock has Bucky shouting up at the ceiling again. Steve just barely edges the panties down Bucky’s thighs, petting up over his balls with one hand while he thumbs at Bucky’s hole. “ _Fuck_ , f-fuck, oh, god.” 

“That’s much better, B,” Steve croons. He kisses up the side of Bucky’s dick and then he’s applying pressure, his thumb slick and coaxing enough to slip just past the rim. 

A shivery, broken noise escapes Bucky when Steve bites down on his thigh. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, working it in and around for just a few moments before he’s shifting to get a better position, pulling his thumb free and working back in with his index finger at the same time as he takes Bucky’s dick back into his mouth. He keeps petting over the base of Bucky’s dick with his other hand, arm now hooked around the crook of Bucky’s knee.

A pinch to his thigh and a quirked eyebrow reminds Bucky to keep toying with himself, and it’s hundreds of times different, better maybe, than it had been to keep his wrists down.

“Feel good?” Steve pulls off to ask.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, brows furrowed as he tries to wriggle his hips to get Steve to go where he wants – where he _needs_. Bucky’s so close he could cry. The edge is right there, if only Steve would let him near it. “Steve, please, just a little – _oh_ , fuck me – no, wait, back back back – _shit_ ,” he babbles, skin singing as he stares wide-eyed at Steve. Little bastard’s smirking around his mouthful of dick and intentionally missing Bucky’s prostate. He adds another finger. “Please, please, please, Steve,” Bucky begs, working his hips between Steve’s fingers and his mouth. The teasing is _killing_ him, making it worse than if Steve were just relentless because Bucky _knows_ that’s coming but he doesn’t know when.

But…maybe that’s the best part too. Maybe that’s what makes it so good. Bucky can just lie back and let the pleasure drag him along, wrenching him higher and higher under Steve’s discretion, letting Steve worry about the when and the how. It’s up to Steve. Bucky just has to give it up to Steve. 

And the second Bucky gives himself over to that, he slips farther than before.

It’s different, though. _Better_. It feels like all of his muscles have gone lax; Steve’s finger knows every single nerve ending, knows just how to work it to make Bucky moan continuously. All of the tension, the self-consciousness he hadn’t even known he was feeling is gone and Bucky can feel himself making noises, babbling maybe, but he can’t hear it, too focused and not focused at the same time. He’s melting. There’s the heat of Steve’s mouth around him, distracting and perfect and potent, the look in his eyes dangerous and anchoring Bucky down. The clouds, the sun, they’re both right there behind that devilish smirk.

He hears the gentle, “There we go; that’s very good, Bucky,” and feels a little more pressure, zinging pleasure echoing from Bucky’s chest to his cock to his gut and back again.

With no warning, Steve pets up over Bucky’s prostate again, hitting it with every stroke of his fingers and Bucky’s in the clouds, he’s lost in the brightness and the heat, but not so far gone that he doesn’t remember – because he doesn’t; he remembers to – “Oh god – please, please, Steve, please, sir, can I, please,” – and there’s an affirmation, consolation in the soaring crest of Bucky’s mind and body and soul all at once, so overwhelming that he sobs out his pleasure in a broken laudation.

Though his head swims with it, Bucky’s clutching with his hands, grabbing for Steve to pull him up for a kiss. They’re always the sweetest once Bucky’s come, when Steve’s so desperate and almost rough with how bad he needs it too.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , B, that was so hot,” Steve’s saying, grinding up against Bucky’s softening dick, the mess on his groin and thighs. 

It’s cuts and jerks, staggering clips where Bucky flits in and out between Steve in his lap and his head in the clouds. The panties are tugged back up over him, stretched and damp. Steve’s hands are in Bucky’s hair.

“You were so good,” Steve says, “so, _so_ good for me, Buck.”

Steve’s mouth goes straight to Bucky’s, over to his cheek, up to his temple, down to the dimple on his chin. He’s patient and kind, but not gentle at all and Bucky loves it – he loves it so much that he gives a wordless cry and squeezes his eyes shut against another crest of pleasure. He doesn’t know – he has no clue – he might –

“Bucky, _oh_ , Bucky, baby, I’m so close.” It’s a whisper, drifting between the real, solid heat of Steve and the muzzy gray that Bucky sees, but it’s there and Bucky grasps for it.

His head still buzzes, light as a feather but his focus is sharper. “Steve.”

Steve groans and then shoves Bucky back, buoyant against the mattress. “Fuck,” he says and his eyes are so dark. He’s squirming on Bucky’s hips, overstimulating but still so appealing, addictive, but not touching himself the way Bucky knows he wants to – like he’s waiting.

Bucky drags himself as close as possible. “Steve,” he says again, reaching out.

His hand, though it doesn’t feel like it’s truly his just yet, still belonging to Steve and the surrender, fumbles at Steve’s waistband. Steve stops moving, shoves his sweats down and groans a sharp noise while looking at Bucky’s face. Bucky’s returning it, desperate for Steve to feel it too, demanding even with his pliancy. 

“Please.”

It’s molten and beautiful, arcs of come resting momentarily on the stretch of black fabric over the slump of Bucky’s cock before they sink in, seeping through it to touch at Bucky’s skin. Bucky feels the judder of Steve on his thighs, the pulse of him beneath his hand, the cool displacement of air the moment he slumps just to the side, bouncing on the mattress.

The pleasure is different, far more potent and Bucky finally feels like he _is_ good, like he deserves what he feels because he’s returned it to Steve. He sinks into it, little more than a puddle in the middle of Steve’s mattress, petting his hands up over his chest while Steve catches his breath.

“Goddamn,” Steve’s saying, sounding impressed.

Bucky knows he’s smiling. Hell, for all he knows, he might be giggling. But he feels giddy and warm and safe, fulfilled, and that’s exactly what this moment is meant to be, so he really can’t find it in himself to be self-conscious. “I like makin’ ya feel good,” Bucky slurs, head swimming. “You deserve all the good feelings an’ I like’ta give ‘em to ya ‘cause you give ‘em to me. You’re my favorite place to be an’ I wish I could, all the time, I do. It’s nice. You take me outta my head an’ make me feel real good.”

“I…what?”

Steve’s hands don’t stop carding through Bucky’s hair even when Bucky tilts, turning so he can look at Steve’s pretty angel face, the sweaty spikes of part of his hair and the flattened smoosh of the other. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Stevie,” Bucky says, “even when your hair’s all funny an’ you’re punchin’ guys twice your size. Still think you’re the prettiest.”

There’s laughter in Steve’s voice. It’s delightful. “Uh huh, nope,” he says, “ _You’re_ the pretty one.”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says, adamant because of the way his chest blooms, “I can’t even go to school sometimes ‘cause I’m too scared an’ I used t’always throw up before every football game. You stand up for people an’ you’re real stubborn. Angel, Steve -- one’a God’s own warriors.”

Steve leans up on his elbow, still carding his other hand through Bucky’s hair. “What in the world’s gotten into you?”

Bucky giggles and says, “Your fingers.”

Snorting, Steve says, “I can’t really tell if you’re here or if you’re floating.”

“Both,” Bucky answers. His eyes are heavy but he can see Steve. His head’s definitely still muzzy but the thoughts he’s telling Steve feel too important to pass up, so he’s letting them free. “Jus’ feel like talkin’ to ya.”

“Hmm.” Steve hums, but he still looks amused more than anything.

“My head’s all swimmy an’ I think my hands are still yours, but I like that jus’ fine,” Bucky says. He blinks and his eyelids stick. He pets his hands over his own chest. “You made me such a mess. I like that, too. You’re much better’n Howard. An’ bigger. He couldn’t take me outta my head like you can an’ he made me cry an’ that’s why my parents hate him.”

Steve smothers a smile against his palm, eyes crinkling at the edges and hair flopping over his forehead. He tugs it aside and says, “Well. That’s not a bad reason for your parents to hate him.”

“They love Natasha, though. An’ they already love you, too, ‘cause you were real polite an’ you brought me my homework that one day.” After that Bucky feels like he’s out of things to tell Steve. He’s slightly more aware of the fact that he’s been yammering on for the better part of their post-coital cuddling and embarrassment tries to squirm its way past the contentment that’s already settled deep in his bones. “Steve? Sorry I talked a lot.”

Humming again, smiling, Steve just looks up at Bucky through his lashes and leans in to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. “I like it,” Steve says. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

“Does make me wonder…have you been holding out on me all those other times?”

Bucky shakes his head; Steve’s fingers tug on a tangle and Bucky’s head swims again. “Nope,” Bucky says, running his hand down his chest again, “this one feels different.”

There’s silence for a bit and Bucky feels heavy, settled and satiated in a way that he hasn’t since the last time he got to lie in Steve’s bed with him. He watches Steve watch him, a soft smile on his face, and sinks into the soothing rhythm of Steve rubbing at his head. 

“Hey,” Steve says gently after some time. “You wanna shower?”

Bucky’s hindbrain kind of wants to bask in the mess they’ve made for a while longer, maybe wear it beneath his clothes like a filthy secret, but logically, Bucky knows the panties are going to be hell to peel off if they wait too much longer. So, Bucky nods.

“Good, because I think we can consider your panties thoroughly wrecked.”

 

*

 

Steve’s tub is probably a decent size for _him_ , but with the both of them wedged in together, Bucky feels like he’s grown a foot and gained a hundred pounds. His coordination is still pretty much kaput, but Steve’s gentle again, hands sliding over Bucky’s skin as the water douses them both. Steve makes Bucky stand under the spray first, rinsing the sweat and tacky come from him before getting a loofa, of all things, to lather up and gently scrub at Bucky’s skin.

Giggling, Bucky asks, “Why d’ya have one’a those?”

That tiny, secret smile makes its home. Steve gestures for Bucky to turn around and then starts scrubbing at his shoulders. “Nat got me one of those girly ‘spa day’ baskets for Christmas last year. I think she tried to do it as a joke, but she didn’t really bank on how much I love to pamper myself.”

“That’s cute,” Bucky says, shivering when Steve works down his spine.

“You cold?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. When he turns back around, Steve’s eyes are sparkling and Bucky can’t help but lean down to kiss him. 

Steam from the shower billows all around them, a warm blanket to ward off the chill, but still Bucky gathers Steve as close as possible, wrapping his arms around his thin frame to give just that much more. Steve’s oddly pliant in Bucky’s arms, one hand still clutching the loofa while the other rests idly just above Bucky’s ass. The kisses are slow, sweet, a sundae on the hottest day of summer, a mug of hot chocolate in front of the fire on the coldest. When he pulls back, Bucky’s chest is light and full and he gladly goes with it when Steve tugs him down for another round. 

Steve doesn’t stay so docile. He drops the loofa and winds his fingers into Bucky’s wet hair, slides his other down enough to give Bucky’s ass a squeeze, a reminder of what they did earlier dancing right there at the edge. 

And then Bucky remembers, a wisp he grasps and holds dear. “Steve,” he murmurs against Steve’s mouth, his own going slack when Steve nibbles at his lower lip. “ _Steve_. Wanna get my mouth on you, babydoll. Please, please, I’ll be so good.”

“Fuck,” Steve quietly groans, but it’s loud echoing off the tiles, “Yeah, Bucky. Like I’m gonna say no to that.” He gives Bucky’s ass a rough squeeze.

The actual logistics of shower sex are quite a bit more complicated than Bucky’d initially thought, but he figures that it’ll be easier for them both if Bucky sits on the edge of the tub, curtain bunched under his ass, and leans in that way. For just a moment, Bucky nuzzles against the thin skin stretched over Steve’s hipbones, taking a deep, steadying breath to calm himself. This is about Steve. Yeah, Bucky’s going to do something he’s wanted to do since he laid eyes on the guy, but this isn’t about him at all. Before he finally does it, though, Bucky looks up at Steve through damp lashes as Steve smiles down at him, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Steve’s already hard as hell. It’s all the encouragement Bucky needs. 

With a slow stroke, thumbing at the space between Steve’s balls and the base of his dick, Bucky leans in for a taste. He licks up the pearl of precome, groaning as the flavor bursts across his tongue, and then slurps the head of Steve’s dick between his lips.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Steve says, knees going wobbly. Bucky steadies him with a hand around his tiny hip. 

It’s been quite a while – since Howard, actually – since Bucky’s done this, but he’s always kind of loved it. He loves the weight, the musk, the silky hot feel of Steve’s dick in his mouth, taste heavy on his tongue as he works at the head, swallows what Steve’s leaking. The best part, though, is the way that Steve stares down at him all awed and overwhelmed each moment Bucky looks up.

There’s a certain headspace that Bucky attains, eyes closed, focused on sucking in a steady rhythm, one that makes him feel tiny beneath Steve but powerful all at once. He opens his mouth a bit wider, takes a bit more in as he strokes at what’s left, trying to bring Steve all the same pleasure that he’d allowed Bucky to feel before. It’s probably not even close, because Steve’s just that good, but fuck if Bucky isn’t going to try his hardest.

“Tell me. Please,” he pulls off to say, stroking slow and steady before leaning back in.

Again, Steve groans. It’s loud in the space between them, almost sounding surprised. “Goddamn,” he says. “You look so pretty, Buck. Like you need a mouthful all the time, y’got lips like sin. Feels so good.”

Bucky moans, closing his eyes again, going just that bit faster. 

“ _God_ , just wanna – fuck – if I’da known you looked this damn good…makes me wanna keep you on your knees all the time,” Steve says, soft and sweet, a juxtaposition to the way he then tugs at Bucky’s hair. “Look up at me. _There ya go_. Damn. _Damn_ , you look so good with my cock in your mouth. Got your lips all stretched around me, lookin’ at me like you don’t wanna be anywhere else in the world. You don’t, do you?”

Shaking his head, Bucky squeezes at Steve’s hip on just this side of rough and gets another yank for his efforts. 

“My pretty boy,” Steve croons. He pets at Bucky’s cheek, feeling the line of his dick through the skin. His breath goes strained, hitching like the trembling muscles in his thighs. “So _good_.”

Whining, Bucky opens his mouth a bit wider, tries to take too much at once and gags a bit when Steve hits the back of his throat.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Steve shouts. When Bucky looks up at him, his eyes are wide, an unspoken request of, “Do that again,” hidden beneath concern on his face. Bucky does it again, brows coming together as he tries it once more, lasting just a bit longer before the press is too much and he’s wrenching back to heave in a breath, to cough.

Breathing heavily, Bucky licks at the head of Steve’s cock. “Want you to come,” he pants, looking up at Steve. “Wanna make you feel so good.” 

Steve looks down at him like he’s seen the face of God. “ _Jesus_ ,” he hisses. With a sharp tug, he wrenches Bucky’s head back, takes himself in hand while Bucky stares up at him. It sounds so slick, so loud even over the spray of the shower. And it’s so filthy, just the implication that Steve’s going to do it, that Steve’s going to come on his face, that Bucky moans loud and long, coming untouched all over his own belly as he clutches at Steve’s hips. His head is full of cotton, but the moment Steve gives a wordless shout, Bucky’s tilting his face into it, mouth slack and eyes closed. 

The first stripe lands across Bucky’s lips, up to his cheek, and then the second hits his chin, drips down his neck. The last few dribbles arch over Bucky’s chest, streaking down over his abs as Steve shakes out the last few drops. Bucky darts his tongue out to taste, shuddering when an aftershock of pleasure zings up his spine. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Steve enthuses, panting hard. His legs finally give out, but Bucky’s hands around his hips guide him slowly down to the bottom of the tub, his elbows coming to rest on Bucky’s thighs. Bucky pets over his back and shoulders as Steve coughs and takes a few moments to catch his breath.

He’s not wheezing, but Bucky’d still be more comfortable if they got out soon so that Steve could take a couple of puffs from his inhaler. 

Steve looks up at him, still awed. “Oh, my god. I came on your face.”

A slow, dirty smile spreads across Bucky’s mouth. “You sure did, pal.”

“Christ.” Steve kneels up and kisses Bucky, the taste of his come still lingering even though all traces have been rinsed down the drain. He has to pull away to breathe again, and Bucky helps him back to his feet.

Bucky feels like he probably looks like a drowned rat, but Steve just keeps smiling at him all softly and then he starts in on asking him questions about what the subspace felt like, how long Bucky fought it off, why it felt better when Steve came earlier instead of himself, if he liked asking permission, if he liked coming untouched. They talk things over while Bucky lathers up the loofa, scrubbing gently over Steve’s chest and back and belly.

It feels just as good to take care of Steve as it does to be taken care of by him, a ray of golden sunshine filling up his chest. He presses a kiss to Steve’s temple once he’s finished and then starts in on washing Steve’s hair. Working his fingers over Steve’s scalp is soothing, a reminder of how it feels to be petted by him. Once he’s finished, Steve’s all heavy-lidded and smiling when he says, “Your turn,” and then, “Bend down, Buck, you know I can’t reach.”

Smiling, Bucky squats just enough for Steve to reach his hair, lathering it up with shampoo and finger-combing through the tangles he’d put in it earlier. 

“Good, now stand up and tilt your head back for me,” Steve says. He shields Bucky’s eyes with his hand and keeps working his fingers through to get the rest of the shampoo out as water cascades over Bucky’s head. “Good.”

When they get out, flushed from the heat and each other’s touch, Bucky giggles when Steve dons a fluffy robe and a pair of slippers like he’s suddenly aged seventy years. “Oh, my god,” Bucky says, gathering Steve up so he can kiss the damp hair on top of his head. “You’re too much.”

Steve swats at him like he’s actually indignant about Bucky’s sap, but he’s got this sly little smile tucked in the corner of his mouth when Bucky pulls back.

They snuggle up on the bed again, sheets still vaguely musky because Steve shrugged at the notion of changing them, Bucky curled against Steve’s thigh receiving the best kind of absent-minded pets while Steve draws in his sketchbook. The sketchbook that started it all. Bucky loves that sketchbook.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Mm?”

“Why’d Howard call you Captain America?”

Steve’s hand stills for a moment while he barks a laugh. “Ah, jeez, I was hoping you’d forget to ask me about that.”

Bucky reaches up to grab Steve’s wrist, kissing the bruises on his knuckles even as the pulse of anger rockets through Bucky’s chest in remembrance. “Nope.” He releases Steve’s wrist and lets him go back to the pets.

“Ugh, god. Okay, so, you know how I told you history’s my favorite subject?”

“Uh huh,” Bucky says distantly.

“Well, I took AP U.S. History with Howard sophomore year. I thought he was kind of annoying at first – a real flirt, tryin’ to charm the pants off of Coach Hill so she wouldn’t remember to assign us the essays, but she always did. Anyway, we got grouped up together with Falsworth and Jenny McIntyre for a project and –” Steve’s red in the cheeks, not quite flustered…embarrassed, maybe. “Well, I pretty much commandeered the whole thing. I didn’t think Howard actually did any of the readings or even cared about the class at all, so I just. Took control.”

Bucky hums a happy noise. “You’re real good at that.”

Steve pinches Bucky’s shoulder.

“Ow! I’m serious; you are!”

Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “ _Anyway_ , that’s kinda where it came from. He started calling me Captain America and never really stopped. Satisfied?”

“Yep.”

Later on that night, Bucky’s more than a little reluctant to leave Steve, but Natasha and Peggy show up and around the same time his phone starts blowing up with Snapchats and text messages from the fellas so he knows he’s on borrowed time. Monty offers to swing by Steve’s place after he gets off work to pick Bucky up since he’d left his car at his place the night before. 

They all hang out with Bucky in the parking lot, Natasha smoking a cigarette while Peggy and Steve chitchat. Steve’s still warm and happy beneath Bucky’s arm, looking great in Bucky’s letterman jacket, and Bucky’s back in the leather. After she’s finished with her cigarette, Nat saunters back over to join them, slinging an arm around Peggy’s waist as she asks, “So, how’d it go with the panties?”

Bucky chokes on air and Steve hisses Natasha’s name, smacking her on the shoulder as she smirks and hides behind Peggy. 

“Oh, bloody hell, Natasha,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes.

“ _What_? He had to know that Steve wouldn’t be able to figure out the sizing on his own.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, cheeks heating. Steve’s got his hands covering his face and his shoulders are shaking with laughter. It’s infectious; Bucky can’t even get mad. 

Not too long afterwards, Falsworth pulls up, honks, and Bucky kisses Steve on the side of the mouth and tells them to have fun with a pointed look. 

 

*

 

Morita and Bucky have been trying to see who can get the best streak for tossing popcorn in the air and catching it in their mouth when Gabe finally says, “A’ight, bruh. Since no one else is gonna bring it up – what exactly happened last night?”

Bucky very nearly chokes on the popcorn he’d been chewing. He sighs. “Uh…”

“Yeah,” Dum Dum says, flipping his phone around. It’s playing a YouTube video of Bucky swinging at Obadiah Stane. “What the hell was all that about?”

Cringing, Bucky says, “Ya know…I don’t really – he hit Steve. I kinda…lost it.”

“Kinda?” Gabe snorts. “You broke two of his ribs and he got a nasty black eye. He ain’t pressin’ charges because Howard told him he couldn’t.” 

“Wait,” Dum Dum asks, “Why’d he hit Steve?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the niggling feeling of anxiety working its way through him. (He’s really not looking forward to the, “I told you so.”) “’Cause Steve hit him.”

Dum Dum’s expression goes tight, his lips flattening beneath his scraggly mustache to show that he’s just barely reining in his disapproval. “And why did Steve hit him?” he asks carefully.

Bucky shrugs. “Because he was making fun’a me,” he says. “I guess. I dunno really. I, uh, had a panic attack an’ Steve was tryin’ta get me outta there an’ then we just stopped an’ all that other stuff happened.” 

There’s silence for a bit. Gabe breaks it with a, “Well, shit.” 

Not a single one of them was there when it happened. Just him and Steve. Falsworth was already out front waiting on them and the others didn’t show up until Bucky’d already done some damage – and, Christ, he would’ve done more if Gabe hadn’t pulled him off. 

Just when Bucky’s halfway to mad all over again, Dugan goes and says, “Didn’t know you had a panic attack, pal. Sorry we weren’t there.” Bucky deflates, guilty for his misplaced anger. 

Shrugging, Bucky says, “It’s alright. Steve helped.”

They don’t really talk much about it after that.

 

*

 

Before class on Monday, Bucky sits in his car after his drive in, Venti chai tea latte sitting innocuously in the cup holder like this is any other day. But it’s not. He’s nervous and Steve was really encouraging when Bucky’d texted that he was scared, but he just really doesn’t want to have to face the whole student body right now. He doesn’t want to hear people talking about the fight or the party but he knows better than to expect anything different. This is high school, after all. 

And not only that, but Bucky knows he’ll also have to face Stane later on in practice.

He knows it’d only be worse if he turned around and went home like a coward.

Heaving a great big sigh, he grabs his bag and heads inside for first hour.

 

*

 

“Bucky! Hey, Bucky, wait up!”

Holding in a sigh, Bucky pauses in the hallway on his way to English so that Howard can catch up. He pretends to be winded when he finally does, clasping Bucky’s shoulder and smiling at him in that stupidly dazzlingly way he does. 

“Heya, pal,” Howard says, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry ‘bout what happened on Friday. Obie never knows when to shut his trap and it’s always a hundred times worse when he’s been drinkin’.”

Bucky shrugs, bristling a bit at the contact. “It’s alright…”

Howard just grins and then looks Bucky over. “You know,” Howard says, voice dropping into the low, flirty tone that got Bucky in loads of trouble back in the day, “You and Cap are real cute together. Wish I’d’ve thought of that a couple of years ago. Would’ve loved to have a go at you both at the same time.” With a wink, he backs off, walking backwards toward his own class. “Catch ya later, Barnes.”

As soon as Bucky makes it in to class, he’s texting Steve about the little encounter to which Steve just replies: _God, what a skeeze_. and then: _Damn, he’s right though_. With a snort, Bucky starts in on the bell work question.

By lunchtime, Bucky’s already antsy to see Steve again, like two whole hours apart is too damn much and he’s a little embarrassed by the way he scoops Steve up like a long lost lover when he exits the south hall doors to meet Bucky outside of the commons. 

“Whoa, put me down,” Steve says, smacking at Bucky’s shoulder. He giggles, though, when Bucky nuzzles into his neck to place a tiny kiss just below his ear. “Missed you, too, B.” Steve staggers a bit when Bucky gets him back on the ground, steadying himself with a hand tangled in the pouch of Bucky’s hoodie like he’s dizzy.

“You okay?” Bucky asks. 

Steve rolls his eyes and starts walking toward Gabe’s car. “I’m fine. C’mon, Barnes, you’re gonna make us late.”

While the fellas are talking about what happened after they’d already left the party, Steve settles up against Bucky’s arm in the booth and rests his hand on Bucky’s thigh. It’s an innocent, slightly possessive gesture, but it makes Bucky feel like he’s swallowed the sun. He’s floating just a bit by the time everyone is gathering up their trash and he can tell that Steve notices when Bucky nearly tumbles his way out of the booth to follow. When they get back to the school, Bucky stays attached to Steve’s side and just smiles at the good-natured teasing the Commandos throw their way. 

“You gonna be okay to go to art?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky nods, not quite trusting himself to speak lest he let loose an embarrassing barrage of nonsense like he had on Saturday.

Steve just offers up that tiny secret smile and says, “If you say so.”

Art goes by much too quickly for Bucky’s liking, but he’s come back down to earth before he has to leave Steve again. He sighs, feeling the anxiety filter back in as he sits through student council, knowing that he has less than fifty minutes before he has to face Stane in the locker room. Falsworth seems to notice his agitation because he takes over quite a bit of the work without making a peep. 

But the thing is, Bucky’d been panicking for nothing. Obadiah doesn’t look at him twice throughout the entirety of seventh hour, running drills like it’s any other day even though he winces each time he bends to touch the line. It’s fifty minutes of Bucky trying to tell himself to calm the fuck down even though he still wants to beat Stane’s face to a pulp for laying a hand on Steve. It’s fifty minutes of Gabe and Dernier and Falsworth trying to keep in the line of sight so that Bucky doesn’t march over there and do it anyway. By the end of it, though, Bucky knows better than to feel comfortable.

He’s got an eye on Stane the whole time they’re trudging back to the locker room and when Stane looks up and catches Bucky’s eye, the color leaves his face and then he quickly averts his gaze. Bucky’s never seen him leave the locker room so quickly. 

Dernier whistles low and says, “ _Il semble qu’il a vu un fantôme,_ ” to which Gabe responds, “I know, man.”

“What?” Bucky asks, still bristling.

Gabe tugs his shirt on over his head. “He said it looked like Stane saw a ghost.” 

As Bucky’s heading to his car, he tenses up, seeing someone leaned up against the driver’s side door – but relaxes when he figures out that it’s Steve. He’s mad all over again when he sees the purpling bruise beneath Steve’s eye. 

“Heya, Stevie,” Bucky says.

“Hey,” Steve returns, brows furrowing even as he tugs Bucky down for a quick kiss. “You alright?”

“I…”

Again, Steve frowns and gestures for Bucky to get inside the car, going around to hop into the passenger side himself. “What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, more of a command than a request.

Bucky looses a weighty breath. “I am not…” He clenches his fists, takes another deep breath. “I really ain’t prone to violence like that,” he starts, shifting a bit in the seat to get comfortable. “But seein’ him, even with the bruises on his face an’ wincin’ all during practice, I still wanted to go over there an’ –” He bites off the rest of the sentence, scaring himself with how much anger he feels all over again.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, guiding Bucky to look at him over the console. “You didn’t do it, though. And I’m proud of you for that.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“Asshole didn’t even apologize for hitting you.”

“Asshole _should_ apologize for saying shitty things about _you_.”

Looking over at Steve with exasperation doesn’t really do any good when Steve looks like he’s only just barely holding it together. Bucky bursts out laughing at the same moment as Steve, feeling like he’ll never be able to do anything to deserve this guy. Steve kisses him again, chuckling just enough to make it more teeth than lips and then presses their foreheads together like an echo of that first time they were ever in Bucky’s car together and – Bucky kind of wants to cry with how much he loves him.

“So, uh,” he says, clearing his throat. “You need a ride home?”

Steve reaches for the seatbelt as Bucky starts his car. “Nah, not home. But I wouldn’t mind a ride to the shelter, if you’ve got the time.”

“Sure thing, babydoll.”

Saint Michael’s Rescue Mission is a squat two-storied building in obvious need of repairs. The shingles look patchy, the gutter’s falling off, and the door’s practically hanging off its hinges. Steve looks happy at the sight, perking up the moment it comes into view as he chatters away to Bucky, meanwhile Bucky’s mentally planning out repairs and figuring costs for the project, wondering if he can talk his mom or dad into heading it up. 

“Bucky?”

Attention back on Steve as he parks, Bucky says, “Yeah?”

“You wanna come in with me for a while? You can meet the nuns and maybe some of the guys.” The look in Steve’s eye is so incredibly hopeful that Bucky wouldn’t be able to say no even if he’d wanted to.

As Steve leads the way in, beaming and chattering while Bucky’s compiling a list of tools and assessing other projects that might need to happen – the baseboards are splintering, there’s towels stuffed on the windowsills, and the whole place looks like it’s in need of a paintjob.

“Hey, who’s in charge here, Stevie?” Bucky asks, trailing slowly behind.

“That’d be me,” a firm voice says. The woman’s decked out in a habit, tall and willowy with hands that are gnarled with age. “Sister Mary Prudence. You must be the ‘Bucky Barnes’ that Steven speaks of so often.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says, nodding and reaching forward to shake her hand. 

She shoots a glance at Steve – and Bucky just knows he’s still beaming – and then smiles at Bucky as her other hand comes up to clasp his between both of hers. “So polite. Now, tell me, young man. Surely, your parents didn’t name you something so ridiculous.”

Though he wants to bristle at it – because who is this lady to assume something like that; what if they had? – he finds that he really can’t. There’s something about her that demands respect, and then there’s the fact that Steve seems to be just barely holding in snickers. “No, ma’am. My given name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“James is a good name. Biblical. That’s what I’m going to call you.” She takes a deep breath, eyeing Bucky up for a moment before she says, “Now. You asked who was in charge of this home and I’d like to know why.”

Bucky glances at Steve, who’s wearing that tiny grin again, and then looks back to Sister Mary Prudence with determination. “I’d like to fix this place up, if you don’t mind. My dad’s an architect an’ I’ve worked construction for the past three summers. I know a little bit ‘bout fixin’ places up.”

Surprise is written across her features, raised brows shifting the wrinkles tucked beneath the veil of her habit. “Steven,” she says, after smoothing her expression, “Go help Sister Agnes get started on the supper.” After Steve disappears with a respectful, “Yes, ma’am,” she turns to Bucky once again. “Are you religious, James?”

There’s no point in lying. “My ma’s Episcopalian an’ my dad’s Jewish. But…no, ma’am. I ain’t.”

“And yet there’s goodness in you, just as there is in Steven.” 

All at once, Bucky sees exactly what Steve had been so enthused about. Together, they walk the grounds of the shelter and Bucky writes down his ideas for repairs while she introduces him to the three other nuns and a handful of guests. The layout is relatively straightforward. It used to be a building meant for business suites, but most have been converted into rooms. There’s a bathroom downstairs that could use some fresh tiles, some wiring showing in one of the bedrooms, and a boarded up window in the office. She explains to Bucky that what they receive in donations goes to feeding and clothing those that need it. The rest goes to paying for doctors’ visits or toys for the children.

They pass through the halls again and Bucky peeks into the kitchen to see Steve – beautiful, golden angel laughing in delight at something one of the guests is saying to him – serving steaming bread rolls onto tray after tray. Bucky might not be religious in the sense that Sister Mary Prudence had asked, but looking at Steve and seeing the way he is…it almost gives him reason enough to believe.

“James,” Sister Mary Prudence says, eyes sparkling as she gestures for Bucky to keep following her. 

She leads him back through the halls to the office, pointing at a chair across from the wide mahogany desk. It’s gashed in places and in need of a polish, but a beautiful piece of furniture.

“You do realize that I will not be able to provide the funding for this project that you have in mind,” she says, looking at him with a steady, even gaze, “and seeing as how you’re not a member of the Church, I wonder why you want to concern yourself in the first place.”

Bucky swallows, feeling oddly like this is a job interview. He scratches at his head, loosening his bun enough that a few tendrils escape. “With all due respect…This place is a bit of a dump. You’ve got people in there that need a leg up…an’ I know they’re probably happy enough with a warm meal an’ a roof over their heads, but I figure it don’t hurt to make sure the roof ain’t gonna fall in while they’re sleepin’, ya know?”

Mouth tilted in half a smile, Sister Mary Prudence says, “Thank you for speaking frankly, James.” She looks down at her clasped hands and says, “I can see why Steven has chosen you.”

And that’s a weird way to phrase it, but hell, that’s pretty much the way Bucky sees it too. Steve _picked_ him and Bucky’s going to do his best to deserve that with everything he’s got. 

Bucky catches up with Steve a little while later, a list of supplies typed out on his phone and a mental appeal planned out for his dad. 

“Heya, Buck,” Steve says, brightened in a way that Bucky really only sees when they’re alone together. It’s heady. “You headin’ out?” He’s already setting aside his cleaning gloves and making his way over.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I’ve still got homework an’ stuff.”

“Here,” Steve says, “I’ll walk you out.”

Everything about Steve seems lighter and happier, like he’s finally shared something so intrinsic with Bucky that he’s got no other worries. There’s a bit of a bounce in his step and he’s not shy about grabbing Bucky’s hand – even in front of Sister Agnes. Bucky can feel that he’s blushing, but Steve doesn’t seem to think twice about it, so Bucky shouldn’t either. Again, he realizes it’s easier to just fork his worries on over to Steve. 

“You gonna need a ride home?” Bucky asks once Steve’s successfully led him over to his car. 

“Nah,” Steve answers, “Aunt Liza’s gonna pick me up. She’s off tonight so we’re supposed to go to dinner.”

And that harmless little statement has scenarios flittering in front of Bucky’s mind’s eye – mostly multiple versions of him and Steve at a restaurant, gazing at each other over a flickering candle or maybe crossing their eyes just to make the other laugh. It’s acute enough to make Bucky’s breath catch. He wants that. He wants that with Steve.

Steve leans up and kisses Bucky. “You get your homework done and I’ll text you when I get home from dinner, alright?”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Bucky retorts, grinning as he unlocks his door.

Groaning, Steve says, “You’re really making me regret telling you that story.” He doesn’t seem mad at all when he waves Bucky off and disappears back inside the shelter.


	8. a bad day and a welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The minute he gets home, Ma looks at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips, asking with her expression what’s wrong before she heads into the kitchen to make tea. Sighing, Bucky follows after her and sits at the breakfast counter with his head in his hands while he waits for the microwave to beep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [MUFFLED SCREAMING]
> 
> //impromptu hiatus
> 
> i hope you lovelies are doing well! thank you for being patient and for all of the kind, encouraging comments and messages :) check out the tags for updates!

When Bucky gets home, there’s a message from Obadiah Stane waiting for him on Facebook. It’s this big long spiel about how he didn’t even know what he was saying and that he hopes what happened – and he never once mentions the “it” specifically, doesn’t say a damn word about Steve – won’t come between them since this is their last year together in school. It’s all very schmoozy and charming in the way that Howard can be, but absent of any remorse whatsoever.

It pretty much just serves to make Bucky angrier.

But, knowing better than to trust himself right now while his emotions are still running so high, Bucky sets his phone down and pulls out his homework instead of typing that fucker back with a nasty diatribe. 

And it’s probably a good thing that he lets that settle, because Becca calls a few hours in and Bucky’s glad that he’s able to answer with a customary, “Hiya, peanut,” instead of something biting. 

“Hey, yourself, fuckhead,” she replies, and from there it’s easy to fall into the, “How’ve you been?” and all of that. 

Apparently art school is going really well. That project she’d turned in after getting Bucky’s blessing helped her pass the last of that class with a solid A under her belt. Now all she’s got left is finals, just the rest of this week, and she’ll be home for the holidays. And it feels like it’s been so long that Bucky’s almost startled at the thought of what all has happened since she left. He used to tell Becca everything, sitting at the foot of her bed, but now that she’s gone to SVA, Bucky realizes how much he’s kept to himself over the past few months.

“Hey, Bec?” 

She gives a distracted little hum that, after Bucky blurts out, “I have a boyfriend,” turns into a shrill, “ _What?!_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

Laughing, Bucky says, “I’m tellin’ ya now.”

“Well? Go on then,” she says, still sounding shrill, “Tell me about ‘im! Sheesh, Ma didn’t say a damn thing about it when she swung by.”

Brows raised, Bucky says, “She didn’t even tell us she visited ya, sis. Rude.”

“All we did was have lunch,” Becca says, tone an audible version of a shrug, “an’ don’t change the subject, Bucky. Tell me about your boyfriend.”

Honestly, Bucky doesn’t even know where to start. He thinks back to the first time he ever told his dad about Steve, how he’d threatened to get out the wedding binder, and now, with each minute that Bucky spends with Steve and each new thing that he learns about him, each new smile he sees, each touch they share…Bucky can see how that had already been written into his skin. Only now, it’s more obvious. He knows it’s way too soon, and they’re way too young, but Bucky knows in his bones that he was put on this earth to be Steve’s in whatever way Steve would have him. He knows that he loves Steve. It might be the fleeting, teenage type of love, but right now it’s so potent and so overwhelming that he could almost believe it’s the forever kind. Hell, it hasn’t even been a month yet and he already knows. He might’ve known from the first time he’d ever seen Steve smile. If not then, then definitely the first time he heard Steve laugh.

“Wow,” Becca says, “It must be serious if you’ve gone an’ broken your brain already. He ain’t like Howard, is he?”

Barking a laugh, Bucky says, “What is it with you guys an’ Howard? He ain’t a bad guy, he’s just…”

“An egotistical, selfish prick, yeah, I know. _Tell me about your boyfriend, Bucky_ , or I swear I’m gonna do a flyin’ elbow into your face the minute I walk in the door.”

After a sigh, Bucky’s finally able to gather his wits. “His name’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Steve Rogers…Wait, I think I know who that is! Kinda scrawny fella, blonde hair, always looks like he’s pissed off?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not even trying to quell his wistful tone. He already misses Steve and it’s only been a few hours. Bucky officially feels pathetic. “God, Bec, I don’t even know how to explain to ya how gone I am for this kid. He’s so smart an’ funny an’…”

“He treat ya right?” she asks, hesitation edging into her tone. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, not even remotely trying to control his inflection, “Steve takes real good care’a me.”

“Ah, _Jesus_ , Bucky, gross.”

Laughing, Bucky flips onto his stomach and muffles his snorts into his pillow. “Sorry, it’s just. He’s a great fella, Bec. Like _real_ great. Heart’a gold. Oh! An’ he’s brilliant at art – he drew this quick sketch’a me that you’d think almost think was a picture. Didja ever have a class with ‘im?”

Becca says, a smile audible, “Nah, but I’ve seen some’a his stuff before. He could probably get a full ride to SVA, if I’m bein’ completely honest. How long have youse guys been datin’?”

“Uh, since early November, I think?” Bucky’s shrug goes unseen. “I don’t really remember. I think I got the date in my phone.”

Giving a low whistle, Becca then asks if Steve’s met the parents to which Bucky explains that they didn’t scare him off and that they, in fact, love him more than Bucky and Becca combined because he’s so damn polite. She scoffs and then starts in on asking Bucky about Gabe and the other fellas – but mostly Gabe. Her crush on him has been glaringly obvious since they were all still in that awkward middle school phase, which is, in and of itself, impressive. _Nobody_ looks good in middle school. 

“Yeah, yeah, shove it,” Becca says, and then, “Whatever. I gotta go – but hey! I’m comin’ home Saturday! You ought’a invite Steve over, yeah?” At Bucky’s pause, she continues, “I’m _serious_ , bro. I wanna meet your fella.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky acquiesces, “I’ll see if he wants to, but I ain’t makin’ any promises, alright?”

When he mentions his conversation with Becca over dinner, his parents brighten and then suggest throwing a party in Becca’s honor, inviting the rest of the fellas and some of her friends that she’s kept in touch with from school. 

Dad is standing at the sink, washing the dishes, and Ma is pouring herself a glass of red wine when Bucky says, “I also wanted to see about somethin’ else,” and then starts in on explaining Saint Michael’s and how it’d be a great opportunity for him to get volunteer experience _and_ experience for work since he won’t be able to contract again until the summer. What really sells it, though, is when he mentions that he’ll still get his homework done before he does anything else and after that, his dad’s talking about how he’s been in the mood for some pro-bono work and then his ma chips in something about a tax write-off – which Bucky doesn’t really care about. All he wants is for these people to be in a safe, healthy, and comfortable environment. 

His dad’s office is tucked in the back of the house, overlooking the backyard. Right now everything is brown and dead, but in the spring it makes for nice scenery. At least now, it’s allowing in the last vestiges of sunlight. 

“So, you don’t wanna do a complete remodel, just fix up a few of the rooms?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, tucking his feet beneath him on the loveseat opposite the bookshelf. His dad’s poking around on his laptop at the desk, probably pulling up a blueprint of the building or maybe checking out the zoning. “I mean, you should probably come take a look at it before we solidify anything. It ain’t a pretty buildin’ or nothin’ but the nuns ain’t all about appearances anyway.”

He forwards the ideas he’d started in his phone to his dad and then they start in on the most tentative of all lists of supplies that Bucky might need, outlining a time frame and budget.

While they’re still working things out, Bucky’s phone vibrates against his thigh in its Steve-specific pattern, like their very own secret knock or something. The message says: _Home from dinner!_

“That your Steve?” Dad asks without even looking up from where he’s typing. Bucky looks up at him and then he says, “I heard ya smile, kid.”

Trying to quell it, Bucky says, “He just got home from dinner with his aunt.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” George says. “Tell ‘im your mother an’ I say hi.”

_Heya, Steve. Dad and mom say hi. How was dinner?_

The message he gets in return says: _Aw, tell them I said hi back. Dinner was soooooo good, but probably a mistake…_

Grinning, Bucky texts back: _Pizza?_

Bucky can practically hear the chagrin in Steve’s next message: _…I should know better by now, right?_

“Oh, and don’t forget to invite ‘im to the party on Saturday,” Dad reminds him, typing out another flurry on his keyboard. “You know Becca’d kill ya if ya didn’t.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles, typing out a quick request to Steve. It says: _So, I don’t think I mentioned it earlier but my sister is coming home for winter break. She gets here on Saturday and my ma was thinkin about throwing her a little party. Wanna come?_ “Steve says hi back, by the way.”

Bucky’s dad says something along the lines of what a polite boy Steve is and then goes back to clicking around on the internet. He gets absorbed in the amount of time it takes Steve to text back, so Bucky starts packing up his stuff, waving a goodbye to his dad over his shoulder before he heads off to his room. He’s more than a little tempted to flop down on his bed for a nap, but he’d put off the rest of his AP Chem homework so he settles at the desk instead. 

Finally, his phone buzzes against the surface: _Of course, what time?_

The fact that Steve doesn’t mention anything about other people showing up – that he’d be comfortable meeting Bucky’s sister while being around his whole family – without any hesitation whatsoever makes Bucky smile down fondly at his phone screen. _Probably around 2ish? Knowing Bec, she’ll probably wanna take a nap first and then pig out. Any particular food you want?_

Bucky’s already planning on going with his ma to help out with the shopping for this little shindig, but it never hurts to get a little input ahead of time. He knows that he’ll be stuck in the kitchen Saturday helping her make all of Becca’s favorite things – and Bucky feels guilty about how jealous it makes him – but it’ll be worth it just to see her gorge herself on sweets and then whine about it afterward. There will more than likely be a few different types of cookies, a cake, and definitely a pan of Hello Dollies. Dad’ll probably insist on a veggie tray but other than that, it’ll be carb-city. 

_That’s sweet, but you don’t have to do anything special for me._

Huffing a sigh, Bucky sends back: _Maybe I want to…come on, Steve. Just tell me somethin. Otherwise, I’ll end up buyin one of everything._

_Bucky, nooooo._

_Steve, yes._

 

*

 

On Wednesday, they get a review in Calculus that covers every chapter they’ve gone over since day one and just looking at it makes Bucky want to cry. And then after that, in practically every class they get the same treatment and it’s only then that Bucky realizes that the semester is almost over and they’ve got midterms the next week and his grades are _not_ where he wants them. The AP classes are kicking his ass even though he spends plenty of time on homework and studying, and he knows he has to keep his GPA up what with his last SAT and ACT dates coming up in January and application deadlines and – 

Bucky’s distress is palpable by lunchtime. 

The guys keep trying wrangle him into the conversation, but he’s got anxiety thrumming along his skin so hard that all he can think about is how much shit he has to do before next week. He can’t even muster up a fake grin. His hands are clenched into fists against his thighs and Steve keeps shooting him worried glances, but doesn’t press the issue until the bell rings for them to leave art class and he’s standing there like a righteous angel, hands on his hips and eyes blazing, looming in a way that shouldn’t be possible for someone so tiny as he says, “Alright, tell me what’s wrong.”

And he might be stressed out, but Bucky knows better than to argue with that tone. It doesn’t stop him from shrugging and avoiding Steve’s gaze.

“You haven’t said two words all day and I just – I didn’t do something, did I?”

Bucky’s eyes snap to Steve’s so fast, his vision swims. “What? Jesus, _no_ , Steve, y’didn’t – Just,” Bucky huffs a breath, stepping out of the way of a gaggle of some oncoming freshman and scrubs a hand over his eyes before he says, “It’s just me. I’m – it’s my stupid head. Ain’t nothin’ you did, alright?”

Some of the tension seems to seep out of Steve’s shoulders, but he’s still frowning, brows furrowed. “Alright, then. Just…I’m worried about you.” 

Guilt seeps right through Bucky’s core. He can’t help but reach forward and drag Steve in toward him, tugging him close enough to bury his face in the crook of Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Then lets out a shaky, “Fuck.” 

Steve’s hand is solid in the center of his back, grounding in a way that makes it easier for Bucky to breathe.

The moment they pull apart, Bucky’s letting out a shaky breath and saying, “Sorry,” again where Steve can see it.

“Hey, no,” Steve says, “It’s alright. I don’t wanna make you late or anything, but just…you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Everything about his expression is sincere and it makes the breath catch in Bucky’s throat.

“Okay,” Bucky says, nodding and feeling all of five years old. 

Steve gives him one of those tiny grins and squeezes his hand.

Though he’s tempted to skip the rest of the afternoon either to go home and sleep off the shakes or to stay by Steve’s side, Bucky leaves the art room and heads to student council. Falsworth fixes him with a funny look but it fades beneath a grin when he starts in on his plans for placing the decorations throughout the halls for the school’s upcoming charity fundraiser week. It’s definitely a lot less stressful than all of the reviews he’s gotten in all of his other classes, so he’s grateful to be able to relax just a little bit. Over winter break, they’re supposed to help some of the art kids who signed up for the committee to decorate the halls and Bucky’s actually been incredibly excited about the transformation the school’s going to undergo for a few weeks. But now, thinking about all of the stuff that he has to get done in the meantime is really putting a damper on things.

By the time they get to practice, Bucky’s so tense that he knows he’s going to overexert himself. And he does. He pushes himself way too hard and feels dead tired afterwards, leaning against the wall of the showers with his head ducked under the spray.

After getting dressed, Bucky’s on edge enough that the fellas don’t even try to include him in the usual post-practice banter – and then it goes quiet enough that he nearly snaps on Stane when he approaches with a, “Hey, man, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Taking a deep breath, clenching his fists and shooting Gabe a look that says he’ll keep his cool, Bucky nods and follows Stane out of the locker room for a bit of privacy.

“What is it?” Bucky asks, folding his arms over his chest.

Obadiah’s throat bobs as he swallows, like he’s nervous. The bruises on his face are fading, but from what Bucky’d seen in the locker room, the ones on his ribs are still pretty intense. All of that shouldn’t please Bucky as much as it does. 

“I just. Are we cool?”

“No,” Bucky says, jaw muscles twitching. “Absolutely not.”

Stane actually looks a little distressed at that. “Bro, come on, I already apologized.”

“Actually, you didn’t. Not once in that shitty little ass-kissing message you sent me did you once say the words, ‘I apologize’ or ‘sorry.’ But that ain’t why I’m pissed. Ya wanna know why I’m pissed, Stane?” Bucky doesn’t realize he’s closing in on the guy until Stane takes an obvious step back. He takes a deep breath, uncrosses his arms, letting them hang at his sides, punctuated in clenched fists. “I’m pissed ‘cause you hit Steve. I’m pissed ‘cause he ain’t done shit to you before an’ you went and hit him so hard he hit the ground. And you know what? I’m _glad_ I beat your ass ‘cause of that. So, _no_ , Stane. ‘Til you apologize to Steve, we ain’t alright.”

Bucky’s physically shaking as he walks to his car, breathing hard and vision blurring. He doesn’t dare turn around, doesn’t look to see if Stane’s still there looking after him, if one of the fellas heard him yelling and decided to come intervene. 

He barely has the wherewithal to key open his door and the moment he shoves his bag in the back and shuts the door behind himself, Bucky’s leaning his head against the steering wheel and trying not to die. He can’t – he can’t let Stane know he’s falling apart like this, so Bucky focuses on his breathing and pulls out of the lot. Bucky shakes the entire drive home.

Confrontation actually scares the shit out of Bucky. He prefers to let things lay where they will, let time take care of the anger, annoyance, or frustration until he’s able to look at someone again without getting mad. But well…the asshole hurt Steve and that’s not something that Bucky’s going to let fly. 

The minute he gets home, Ma looks at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips, asking with her expression what’s wrong before she heads into the kitchen to make tea. Sighing, Bucky follows after her and sits at the breakfast counter with his head in his hands while he waits for the microwave to beep.

Ma’s great in the way that she doesn’t push for information but is still there for him whenever he’s ready. She’s always had a sixth sense about when Bucky’s had a panic attack and Bucky wants to cry because of how she still treats them the same way after all these years. But just the thought of knowing that she’s worrying about him has Bucky sighing again and then saying, “Bad day.”

She puts a napkin over the top of the mug while the teabag steeps, coming around to squeeze an arm around his shoulder and kiss his temple. “You gonna be okay, honey?”

Bucky shrugs. He _wants_ to be okay. He wants to function like a normal human being without getting fluttery panic in his chest or anger thrumming through his veins, but he doesn’t know what that’s like. He’s never known what that’s like. 

“I guess,” he eventually says. “I, uh…Today’s just. I’m stressed out. Midterms are next week an’ my grades ain’t all where they should be. We got a ton of reviews today an’ I feel like I don’t remember anything at all.”

Her hand squeezes his shoulder and Bucky leans back into her, eyes pricking. “You remember what you’re supposed to do when you’re feeling overwhelmed?”

“Breathe. Make small goals.”

“Good,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. She goes back around and sifts sugar into the mug, stirring it gently before sliding it across the bar to Bucky. “So what are you going to do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and cradles the mug in his hands. “Breathe and make small goals,” he says with a crooked grin. 

“Very funny, smartass.” 

It’s all familiar and safe with his ma there to support him, the tea to calm him. Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Okay. I have four big reviews. Calc, Chem, English, and Art. They’re all around a hundred questions, but they ain’t due ‘til next week. I can…I can divide up the questions and work on a certain amount each night.”

“See, there you go,” Ma says, grinning the way Bucky sometimes sees in the mirror, “That’s not too bad, right?”

“Right.”

After tea and a little more encouragement where Ma rubs Bucky’s back and tries to get him to quit freaking out so bad, Bucky heads up to his room and texts Steve that he’s home. He’s got a few messages from the fellas in the group text to answer, so he tells them all that he blew up on Stane, didn’t hit him, but let him know that he wasn’t happy. Gabe tells him that he’s proud for not hitting him again and Dum Dum jokes that he probably should’ve. 

The reply he gets from Steve is: _Good. Do you want to come over and start on this calc review with me?_

Biting his lip, Bucky takes a deep breath and tries to decide. On one hand, Steve’s actually incredible at calculus and Bucky already knows just how much he’d help. On the other hand, Bucky has about a million other reviews to work on too and he just knows that he’ll get distracted by Steve in some way. But…maybe a compromise can be made.

 _I probably can, but I need to work on some other stuff first if that’s okay?_ is what Bucky ends up sending.

He gets back: _Sure, Buck. Just let me know before you head over._

Bucky figures that if he works on about fifteen to twenty problems per night he’ll be able to get each review done before the due dates. He knows there will be some questions he’ll struggle with, so he’s not going to try to hold himself to it. If he misses a few problems, it won’t be too big of a deal. (At least, that’s what he’s going to keep telling himself. Maybe he’ll believe it one day.) It’s still a lot to do, but now, with the goal he sets, it’s not quite as scary.

English is generally the easiest subject for Bucky and he ends up getting his quota done within an hour, moving on to chemistry just as soon as he’s finished. His stomach starts growling about halfway into it, so he breaks for a quick dinner of mac ‘n’ cheese, then hops right back to it. After he finishes up with chem, he figures he might as well work with Steve on both the calc and art review, so he tugs his hair back into a bun, shoves his feet back into his boots, and throws on his pea coat.

He texts Steve and then heads across town, lugging his backpack up to the fifth floor and then knocking on Steve’s door. 

It flings open and there’s Miss Liza, grinning up at Bucky like she’s actually really pleased to see him. “Steve said you’d be coming over,” she says, gesturing for him to come inside. “I made black bean burgers if you want one.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, offering a smile as he trails after her, “I already ate supper, but it’s real nice of you to offer.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, tying her hair back into a ponytail, “I know how you growing boys are. If you get hungry, just let Steve know.” She squeezes his arm and then shrugs into her coat before heading out for a night shift at the hospital. 

Bucky takes a deep breath, suddenly a little more worried that he’s not going to get anything done.

Knocking on the doorframe to the ruckus room, Bucky slides into view of Steve, who’s listening to music at top volume, humming to himself as his pencil scratches over the paper. His face splits into one of those sunshine smiles as soon as he looks up, tearing the headphones out of his ears before standing on his tiptoes to kiss Bucky. “Hi,” he says, still grinning as he pulls back.

“Heya, Stevie,” Bucky returns, smiling softly back. 

Steve says, “You look a little better.” He kisses Bucky again and then turns to gesture toward the desk. “You want the desk, the chaise, or d’you wanna work on the floor? Kitchen table’s kinda tiny, but we might be able to make that work too.”

“I…I don’t care,” Bucky says, scratching behind his ear. He huffs a dry little laugh. “I, uh. Probably not the chaise, though. ‘Fraid I won’t get anything done on that, ya know?”

Looking wry, Steve ducks his head and gives a quiet chuckle as the tips of his ears go red. “Yeah, okay, gotcha. How about we do the kitchen then?”

“Yeah, that – that’d probably be best.”

Trailing after Steve, Bucky swallows hard as he glances at Steve’s ass, telling himself over and over that he has no time to get distracted. Not when he has thirty more problems to do. It’s a struggle, but Bucky keeps his expression mild as he sits down, watching the way Steve bites at his lip as he tries to figure out how they’re going to fit all of their junk onto the small surface. 

“Hmm, it alright if we just share a book?” Steve asks, looking up through his ridiculous eyelashes at Bucky. “We can go one at a time, even though it might take a little longer."

“For you, maybe. Sorry I’m gonna slow you down.”

“Oh, can it, Barnes,” Steve says as he gathers up a pile of opened letters and transfers them onto the counter beside the shiny toaster. He tugs his fringe to the side, out of his eyes, and huffs as he sits down. He scoots the chair across the linoleum, nudging up against Bucky’s side, close enough to knock their knees together. “You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky might be blushing as he looks down, pulls out his review sheet, his binder full of a list of formulas and his notes. Steve props the textbook up against the wall using the napkin holder and the salt shaker, giving a triumphant little, “Hah!” once he gets it to stay. 

They start off with a few proofs, trying to show how and why derivatives work and it takes Bucky significantly longer than Steve, but once he’s finished and he checks his answers against Steve’s, he’s relieved to see that they’ve got the same stuff written down. From there they actually go on to _do_ derivatives, getting increasingly more difficult as they work their way through the problems – and this is shit that they did at the very beginning of the year. Bucky can’t remember half of it and he’s stuck flipping back through the chapter while Steve’s waiting patiently for Bucky to finish and he just –

He can’t breathe. He can’t do these stupid problems. He’s going to fail the midterm and he’s going to fail calculus and he’s going to fail the AP exam and he’s not going to get into college and he’s – 

He can’t _breathe._

“Hey, whoa, whoa, Bucky,” Steve says. His hands are cold on Bucky’s cheeks. His voice is a bit sharper when he says, “Look at me, Bucky.” It’s an order, not a suggestion, and – okay. That’s. Bucky can work with that.

Looking at Steve, his wide blue eyes fringed by ridiculously long lashes, and the furrowed brows above, and matching their breaths, Bucky feels slightly calmer.

“That’s better. Breathe with me, alright?” Steve’s – he’s too good. He’s coaching Bucky through the panic, helping him pull in breaths, hold them, let them out slowly. “It’s alright. I know it feels like it right now, but it’s not the end of the world if you can’t figure out some of the problems. It’s okay to ask for help. We can work through them together, split them up into steps and go by the examples. It’ll be just fine.”

Still shaking, Bucky focuses on matching their breaths and listening to Steve’s platitudes. Chin tucked onto Bucky’s shoulder, arm wrapped around his waist, Steve finally quiets and just waits while Bucky shivers and sweats and tries to remember how to breathe without help. It’s comforting and all, but at the same time, Bucky _hates_ it. Usually, when Steve’s holding him like this it’s because they’re enjoying themselves and each other, the kind of comfort that comes after sharing something precious with someone. Instead, Bucky just feels the bad kind of vulnerable and he’s…sad and angry, _disappointed_ that Steve has to witness this. _Again._

“I’m sorry,” Bucky chokes out, clenching his shaking fists on top of the table.

Steve’s thing fingers come down to rest on top of Bucky’s, soft and gentle as a summer breeze, neither prying nor coaxing; it’s just a show of support. His thumb rubs over the arch of Bucky’s knuckles, playing at the edge of a fading bruise. Quietly, he says, “It’s alright.”

“That’s the –” Bucky’s voice breaks and he has to clear his throat, blinking away the hot prickly feeling around the corners of his eyes. He lets out a shuddery breath and scrubs at his face with his free hand, ignoring the way his fingers still tremble. “I ain’t…havin’ a good day.”

Nodding, Steve looks a bit troubled by that information but he leans in and presses a kiss to the crest of Bucky’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“I hate this,” Bucky admits.

“I hate it for you,” Steve says, looking so sincere about it that Bucky can’t help but smile. It’s watery, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Returning it, Steve asks, “Do you want to take a break for a bit?”

If they take a break, in whatever way Steve’s thinking, Bucky’s not sure that he’ll want to keep at it. “Nah,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I just – can you help me on this one? I dunno what to do next.”

After one last tiny kiss, this time to Bucky’s shoulder, Steve scoots his chair even closer and leans in to show Bucky his notes. He delves into the problem, splitting it up into parts and showing Bucky which words clue into what exactly the problem is asking for, coming up with little tricks to show him when it’s best to use which rule to figure out the derivative. It’s shaky, tentative, but Bucky feels like he grasps the concept just a little bit better. Two problems later he needs Steve’s help again, and then again four problems after that. Each time the rules change, it takes a bit to jog his memory, but Steve helps quite a bit. 

With a sigh, Bucky gives up after ten problems and tells himself that he’ll just make up for the deficit during the weekend – party and construction project planning be damned. He’ll figure out a way to get it all done.

“You started on the art review yet?” Bucky asks, swiping a few loose tendrils of hair behind his ear. His breaths still feel a bit like fire in his chest, but at least his hands aren’t shaking as much anymore. 

The way Steve frowns says that he’d rather not worry about that right now, but then his lips quirk just a bit and he says, “Not yet. Sure you don’t want to take a break first?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “I’ve gotta get at least fifteen of these done tonight or I ain’t gonna finish by the time these things’re due.”

Steve’s expression goes soft, full of admiration just before he shakes his head. “If you say so.” He huffs a dry laugh and then grumbles, his mouth crooked in a wry grin. “Jeez, you make me look like a lazy bum.” 

Thankfully, the art review questions are easier than Bucky’d anticipated. Steve, because he’s already taken the class once before _and_ far surpassed it, remembers most of the answers and helps Bucky out when he needs it. They actually end up getting _all_ of the questions answered, to Bucky’s surprise, which must be why they end up back in the ruckus room on the chaise, caught up in the taste and feel of each other’s lips. 

It’s slow and sweet and everything Bucky has missed since Saturday. Steve feels so tiny under his hands, his hips tilting on Bucky’s lap in a lazy grind. It doesn’t feel like there’s any kind of expectation – not even like Steve necessarily wants to get off, but more like he just wants to keep Bucky pinned right where he has him. 

Steve pulls back and Bucky blinks slowly, feeling weirdly dazed for a simple makeout session.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks.

Bucky proffers a little grin. “Slightly less stressed.” It’s still there, thrumming beneath his skin the way it always does on a bad day, but it’s not quite as insistent as it had been earlier. The relief of getting a certain amount of work done always has that kind of effect on him.

In his lap, Steve squirms just the slightest bit, a sly smile lighting up his face. “How about we make turn that ‘slightly’ into ‘incredibly,’ eh?” He runs his fingers over Bucky’s hands, up his sleeves to encircle his wrists. “Do you have to be home at a certain time?”

Breath already coming a little quicker, Bucky shifts and answers, “Just before midnight is fine.”

Giving a pleased little hum, Steve says, “Well, if you want…I’ve got an idea if you feel up to it. I’ll make sure you’re feeling alright before you have to go.” He squeezes Bucky’s wrists, grounding him in the moment. “Would you want that, Bucky? Wanna be a good boy for me?”

A whine escapes Bucky’s throat before he can help it, hips shifting and brows knitting together as he nods. “I…” he breathes, “Yeah, I do. Please.”

And when Steve grins, the feeling that courses through Bucky is ten steps higher than relief. “Good,” Steve says. He takes a breath and it’s almost like he shrugs off a piece of himself, bringing up something bigger and more authoritative to the surface. He climbs up off of Bucky’s lap, standing just beside the chaise as he cracks his neck and then says. “We’re going to try something new. Get on your knees.”

And, _wow_ – if Bucky’d been standing, they would’ve buckled. He limbs feel watery as hell when he slides down from the cushion of the chair, his knees hitting the floor a bit harder than he’d intended. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

“Wh –”

Steve quirks a brow. Standing there above Bucky, with his hands on his hips and his legs spread shoulder-width apart, Steve looks like he could take Bucky apart with no effort whatsoever. “Hands behind your back.”

Bucky complies.

“There we go,” Steve says softly, stroking the side of Bucky’s face. When Bucky leans into it, Steve gives a little laugh. “So pretty on your knees…” After one last gentle caress, Steve pulls back and goes to sit in the chair at the desk. Bucky goes to follow, but Steve holds his hand out to stop him. “Stay right there for now.”

It’s only a little awkward, Bucky kneeling too far away to touch and unsure as to what exactly they’re doing. Taking a second to suck in a deep breath, because it seems like Steve’s waiting on something with the way he’s just studying Bucky’s face, Bucky tells himself to relax. He closes his eyes and with each exhale, focuses on loosing the tension in an extremity, one at a time. When Bucky opens his eyes, blinking into clarity, it’s to the sight of Steve rubbing himself through his sweats.

Keening, Bucky shifts restlessly and watches Steve’s hand.

Steve gives that secret smile, like he’s proud already. “Didn’t even have to tell you. _God_ >, it was like watching you melt or something.” His fingers flex, followed by a twitch of his hips – and then he’s biting his bottom lip, making it even plusher and all the more tempting. “Tell me – tell me what you want, Buck.”

“Wanna –” He breaks off into an embarrassed laugh, trying to ignore the way his face heats at just the thought. “Jesus,” he says under his breath, and then a little louder, clear enough for Steve to make out, “Wanna taste you – give ya a suckjob, if you’ll let me.” 

Steve shudders, giving himself another squeeze so that Bucky can clearly see the thickening outline of his cock. “That’s alright by me –” When Bucky starts shuffling forward, though, he holds a hand out again, making Bucky stop right in his tracks. “– but I think we should have a few rules, maybe try something new?”

“Okay,” Bucky says, trying not to let his wariness seep into his tone. The tension, however, slides back into his shoulders and apparently it’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed by Steve.

“First,” Steve says, “I want to see you relax again. Can you do that for me, Bucky?” He looks expectant, but not in a way that feels overwhelming. It’s hopeful, more than anything. Earnest. “Alright, come here.”

Shuffling over, wrist still clasped in one hand, Bucky ends up nudged against Steve’s knee, the soft gray fabric soothing enough to start the slide into mitigation. Bucky lets out a shuddery breath and closes his eyes, willing himself to give up the tension. He visualizes it in his mind’s eye – a tangled knot, coarse and unwieldy, heavy like a shadow – and then he sees Steve’s hand, outstretched and ready for it, prepared to work his magic and lighten the burden with his deft fingers. He watches it unravel, like the simple touch of Steve’s light is enough to disintegrate the negativity. 

“Very good,” Steve croons, deep and soft. “Look like you’re going deep. How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Green. Better like this, with you holdin’ it for me.”

Snickering, Steve strokes at Bucky’s cheek and says, “Yeah, okay. Oh, _wow_ , you went down fast. That’s – you’re doing great, Bucky.”

Bucky opens his eyes, astounded by the pleasure on Steve’s face. “’M I good?”

“The very best. Always so good for me,” Steve sincerely answers. “Alright, I’m going to ask you to do a few things for me, okay? Think you’ll be able to keep being good for me?”

Nodding, Bucky blinks slowly and says, “Uh huh, ‘f course I will.” He sighs. “Missed this.”

Steve smiles and pets up into Bucky’s hair. “I know, baby. I could tell. That’s why I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.” He’s so sure, so confident. Bucky believes him. “Alright, if you think you can do it, stand up for me.”

“Need help.”

“Alright, Buck,” Steve says, holding out a thin arm for Bucky to use for leverage, “Here, I’ve gotcha.” He grunts as Bucky pulls himself up, using the seat of the chair when he wobbles into Steve. It puts their faces close together, and Bucky can’t remember why he shouldn’t kiss Steve, so he does it, not thinking of any consequences. He hisses when Steve bites at his lower lip, whining when Steve doesn’t let up, and then whimpers when he finally releases it; then the feeling of the blood rushing back in has Bucky keening out a little sob. He’s already braced against Steve, looking him right in the eye as Steve gives a firm, “ _Stand up_ , Bucky.”

With a shiver, Bucky finally gets his mind coordinated with his knees and does it. “Sorry, Steve.”

“Mm,” Steve hums, “We’re going to have to work on your listening skills. Get you better disciplined.”

Bucky’s mind is too fuzzy to run through possibilities of what that could mean, but the moment Steve starts working at Bucky’s belt, he’s going tense and hard all at once. “Y’gonna spank me? ‘M sorry, Steve, I’ll be good. I’ll listen, promise.”

Steve pulls the belt free of its loops, his jeans sagging just a bit as Bucky’s hips turn with the force of the movement, a look of surprise taking over his expression. “Hush, I’m not spanking you. This time, anyway,” Steve says. His expression softens just a bit and then he orders, “Turn around. Give me your wrists.” The leather is rough in some places and supple in others. Steve wraps it around and around until it’s snug around Bucky’s wrists. He slips a finger through, testing. “Too tight?”

Shaking his head, Bucky gives a muzzy, “No, ‘s nice. Makin’ me…feel real good, Steve. Already. Like it, ‘cause ya always make me feel so good.” It hits him like a brick, actually.

“Good,” Steve says with a chuckle. He slowly works Bucky’s jeans down his hips, and Bucky dutifully steps out of them when Steve taps at his thigh. There’s the _fwap_ of them hitting the end of the chaise, layered on top of Bucky’s discarded jacket and then Steve’s saying, “Now, turn and get back down on your knees for me. Between my legs this time.”

Bucky spins around, only a little off balance until Steve steadies him with hands on his hips. With Steve’s help, he goes back down to his knees, settling into the open-v with his shoulders nudged up against Steve’s inner thighs. He looks up at Steve and – it’s. It’s _intense_. Liquid fire sets up in Bucky’s chest and he just – it feels like this is where he belongs. Right here.

“It is, Bucky,” Steve says, stroking his thumb up the crest of Bucky’s cheek. “This is right where you need to be. You worked so hard and now you deserve a reward.”

The breath that Bucky looses is a shaky, “Huh,” sound, heavy enough from the praise to have him clutching at his own fingers and trying to melt into Steve’s touch. 

“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, “You’re doing so well already.” He grabs Bucky’s chin, not quite roughly, but a great deal firmer than his touch has been thus far. It lets Bucky sink back just a bit, finding an anchor in Steve’s fingers digging in just below his chin. “You listening to me?” At Bucky’s shaky nod, Steve says, “ _Good_. I’m going to give you a choice. The fact that I’m giving you this choice means that I want either option equally. You pick whichever thing you want; neither one is wrong, understand?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, then tell me,” Steve says, still eyeing Bucky with that serious authority, “Either you come first, or I do. Which is it going to be?”

And – oh, god. 

Bucky’s under, but not so far that he can’t decide, “Ah, y-you, _please_ , Steve, please, I wanna – want to.” He’s sure his eyes are wide, paving way to the desperation in his heart. His mouth is already watering, just thinking about getting his mouth on Steve again.

But Steve doesn’t mind; _of course_ Steve doesn’t mind. The way his grip softens and his palm trails down the column of Bucky’s throat to rest on his shoulder makes it feel as though Steve is actually pleased with Bucky’s choice. “Shh, you’re still thinking too much, B. The whole point of this is to get you to _stop_ thinking.” He strokes at the skin of Bucky’s throat, bending just enough to loom, looking all riled up in a way that makes Bucky feel hot all over. “Wanna know what you’re gonna do for me?”

“Yes,” Bucky responds, voice a scrape of a thing.

“Want you to stay right where you are,” Steve says, this wicked glint in his eye, “You’re going to keep looking at me. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Bucky tries to breathe beneath the weight of what Steve’s insinuating, clearing a bit of the fog from his mind. Eye contact. Whatever Bucky does, he has to do it while looking at Steve. 

“Tell me,” Steve says.

Bucky’s head swims. “Yes.”

“Alright then,” Steve continues, spreading his legs a bit more as he slumps in the chair, and it gives a squeak once he’s finally settled. He nods down toward his crotch. “Get after it.” 

Breath hitching in his chest, Bucky leans forward just enough to nose at the line of Steve’s dick through the sweatpants. The fabric is soft, worn, and even though it’s fairly thick, Bucky can still smell through it the musk of precome, maybe just from how turned on Steve is. It’s enough to have Bucky swallowing hard, biting at his lower lip as he blinks up at Steve. Steve bites out a quiet curse and then Bucky’s mouthing at him, his bottom lip catching on the fabric just over the head of Steve’s cock. 

He’s not sure which of them makes the louder noise, but it makes Bucky’s eyelids go heavy.

“Look at me, baby,” Steve orders, voice wavering a bit when Bucky finally blinks up at him. His hips shift and Bucky tries to follow the arch of his dick, chasing after Steve in a way that makes him feel like he must look hungry for it – and he _is_. It’s impossible to be embarrassed about it when Steve’s looking at him in the same damn way, eyes dark and expression hot. Steve’s voice turns into a lilted croon: “Very good, Bucky. Damn, that’s a…that’s nice.”

With another shift, Steve’s shimmying his sweats down just enough for Bucky to finally get his mouth on skin.

Steve gives a soft groan and reaches down to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses when Bucky tries to get more into his mouth and misses, the head of Steve’s dick glancing off of his chin. “You’ve got the prettiest mouth. I’ve always had – _guh_ , the biggest thing about it. Used to be embarrassed about how often I’d catch myself staring at it.”

Bucky moans, unabashed, and gravels, “Hands,” just before he finally manages to get his mouth around Steve’s dick. He sucks hard, using more teeth than he’d maybe intended, but Steve gives a sharp noise and tugs on Bucky’s hair, his head flopping back against the chair. Bucky flattens his tongue and runs it up and over the length, working Steve’s cock back into his mouth just as soon as he can. Steve tastes the way he smells, clean but still a bit musky in the way that just says _guy_ and Bucky _loves_ it. He really, actually, truly loves the way that Steve’s hot and heavy in his mouth, thick enough to tug just at the seams and – he just.

It feels like they can’t get any closer. Not with the weight of Steve’s gaze pinning him down, so vulnerable with his dick in Bucky’s mouth but still, somehow, in control. Bucky can’t get enough.

“Yeah, that’s – so good, Bucky.” 

Steve’s eyes are warm and secure, shadowed just a bit behind the frames of his glasses and the glare of the overhead light, but still, Bucky feels safe. He feels like Steve, even sitting there, feeding the length of his dick between Bucky’s lips, is taking care of him.

“So good,” Steve pants over and over, still looking at Bucky like he’s given him the world. “Fuck, if you knew how much I thought about this… Mouth’s fuckin’ perfect, Buck. Always – _f-fuck_ – torn between wanting to kiss you and – wanting to mess you all up with my dick.” Steve swallows wetly and humps up into Bucky’s mouth, giving him just a bit more cock that he can handle, groaning and gripping Bucky’s hair when he pulls off to suck in a breath. “ _God_ , I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve thought about when you let me come on your face. Haven’t – _fuck_ – let myself come since then. Wanna do that with you some time – make you wait. Bet you’d do so well. You’d be so pretty like that, desperate and begging me to come. _Ah_ , jeez. So pretty and all mine. My perfect, good little boy.”

The feeling slips in faster than Bucky knows what to do with, and he knows, distantly, it’s mostly due to the praise.

Bucky has to pull off; he can’t breathe. It’s so heavy, but so meaningful – the best kind of pressure.

He moans and floats and nuzzles as close as he can, staring into Steve’s eyes, trembling with how much he wants to please him, make him come. Soft, tiny licks to the thin skin of Steve’s balls, just below, back above, has Bucky’s eyes going unfocused, staring at Steve unseeingly. He groans, tries nuzzling closer and feels calmer when Steve’s hand tilts his chin back, when his cock slides smoothly back between Bucky’s lips. Bucky sucks and swallows and makes what is probably far too much noise, but he’s – so _happy_. Steve’s petting his cheek and his hair and using Bucky just the way he wants. 

“Yeah, just like that, Buck. You’re doing so well. Nothing better than your mouth.” He leans in, far more flexible than Bucky can be impressed with while he’s so untethered, and presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. Breathless, wrecked, Steve says, “Keep this up and you’ll get to come very soon.”

Bucky moans loud, his lips tingling around Steve cock, and Steve’s hips jolt, making Bucky take too much, but he’s looking at Bucky like that and Bucky’s eyes are watering but this is good. This is what Steve is giving him and it’s good and it’s what Bucky wants because it’s what Steve wants and that feels good – it feels so goddamn good. 

“ _God_ ,” Steve whines, sounding as desperate as Bucky feels, “Letting me fuck your mouth like this…letting me use you. So pretty on your knees lookin’ up at me. Fuck, _fuck_.” His fingers come down to press against Bucky’s cheek, feeling himself from the outside, and Bucky hums absently, so far down that he really can’t do much more than let himself be moved. “Oh, _fuck_. I’m gonna come, B. Gonna – d’you…?”

Mouth open, head resting against Steve’s thigh, Bucky swallows and keeps staring straight at Steve. 

Breathless, soundless, Steve’s mouth drops open as his expression tightens, his hand bumping against the underside of Bucky’s chin as he works himself over, come striping into and across Bucky’s lips. It’s hot and wet and everything Bucky’s wanted; he feels boneless, perfect, with eyes never leaving Steve’s apart from a heavy, slow blink. Come puddles beneath his cheek, seeping into Steve’s sweats and then Steve’s giving a shaky, “Fuck,” and leaning in to kiss at Bucky’s mouth. 

For some indiscernible amount of time, Bucky’s coaxed this way and that while Steve kisses him, murmuring encouraging sounds until Bucky tugs a bit back toward the surface.

“Steve,” he says, smiling dumbly up at him once his vision’s a little more focused. “’s I good?”

“You were _so_ good, Bucky. You were the best – perfect.” Steve leans in to kiss Bucky again, over his cheeks, his chin, his lips. “So, so good that I want you to come for me, okay? I know – you need it, Buck. I want you to have everything you need.”

Bucky’s eyes feel strained and still unfocused, but Steve’s so pretty and pleading and Bucky _loves him_. He’ll do whatever Steve wants.

“I know how close you are, Bucky,” Steve says, voice wrecked and reedy. A thought blooms through the clouds of Bucky’s mind, a beam of sunlight that says that he’ll need his inhaler soon. “Been leaking all over my shin for ages, rutting against me like you couldn’t help it…”

Without a smidgen of a doubt, Bucky knows it’s true. It’s a tight coil in his belly, burning like it’s been there forever – ever since Steve tied him up, told him to get on his knees, looming above like a deity with a similar fire in his eyes, cradled between his thighs and ready for Steve, whenever he might want it. 

And Steve wants it now.

“You’re doing so, so well,” Steve murmurs. His touch is soft where he’s smoothing the hair away from Bucky’s forehead, so gentle and sweet that it brings tears to Bucky’s eyes. Leaning in, Steve presses kisses all along Bucky’s jaw, his hand coming down to rest on Bucky’s back, broad and warm and coaxing. “Always so good for me; ‘d never want anyone else.”

“A-ah, S-ste – Steve –” Bucky’s rutting, staring at Steve’s face and feeling the heat course through his body. It’s too much – he’s too close, but it’s not – it’s not _enough_. He _can’t_ –

“Shh, relax, baby,” Steve says, voice little more than a gravel of praise, tinged with gold and gray like shimmering ore mined from a cavern. He’s stroking over Bucky’s shoulders, soothing the frayed knots of tension. “You can. I’m right here and I’m so proud of you – everything you do, Bucky. You always make me so proud and so happy.”

Bucky cries out – and he only knows it’s him because he’s watching the purse of Steve’s lips as he shushes him – because there’s nothing but affection and patience in Steve’s expression. He wants – he wants to touch Steve so bad. He wants to press his fingers into Steve’s hips and nuzzle against his stomach. He wants to kiss the notches between Steve’s ribs and the indent between his pecs. He wants, he wants, he wants, but he can’t have because his hands are tied behind his back and he’s completely at Steve’s mercy, only able to give as much as Steve wants to take and has to save the rest for later.

It’s the best, _worst_ feeling there is. Bucky loves just as much as he hates it.

“Whenever you’re ready; I’m right here. You’re safe. You can let go and I’ll still be right here for you. Fall apart for me, Buck. I want you to come. Always so, so good for me – want you to come right now.”

With a shuddery shout, Bucky grasps at the coil, sinking into it, ruts a final few times against Steve’s shin, eyelids going heavy as his cock pulses against the fabric of his boxer briefs, Steve’s sweats, and he shivers, but his gaze never leaves Steve’s for a second. He’s shaking so hard, held together only by Steve’s hands rubbing over his back and his cheek, the leather binding his wrists. 

Steve’s lips are wet against Bucky’s cheeks, his chin, his lips. He’s murmuring softly into Bucky’s ear and petting him so nicely. He croons, “Good boy,” between kisses, and then says, “Take as long as you want; you were _so_ good for me,” in the exact way that makes him feel warm all over.

Bucky can’t focus on much else.

The pleasure is different afterwards, cresting and drifting instead of just floating, and Bucky feels like he could come back down at any point, just one tug on the kite string from Steve and he’d be able to find his footing back on solid ground. But Steve’s accommodating in the best kind of way, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair to help him lose focus on the end result and instead enjoy the ride, back to skimming the surface of reality, becoming a bit more self-aware. It’s easy to notice the stiffness in his shoulders, biceps, and forearms, less so within his thighs and knees.

“Ah.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready yet,” Steve’s saying, and it’s fuzzy, but Bucky can make it out. He hears the, “…beautiful when you’re like this. Just wanna…” and faded snatches of other things that make him wonder if he _ever_ wants to come back, wants to get up off of his knees and join the real world. It’s hard to want that when Steve’s telling him such nice things. “Nowhere else I’d rather be. Love doing this with you.”

A whimper leaves Bucky’s throat without his control. It’s so close to what he wants, to what he feels and hopes is felt in return. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, nuzzling against the damp spot on Steve’s sweatpants. “Stevie.”

Steve’s lips quirk and he says, “Hey,” quietly, like he doesn’t want to spook Bucky. “You back with me?” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple and works some of the tension out of Bucky’s shoulder. “Ready to get up?”

Still unable to form real words, Bucky nods and tips upright with Steve’s hands steadying his shoulders. 

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks, voice still barely more than a murmur. He rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s arms, eyeing him seriously in the pause. “Was that too much?”

“No,” Bucky answers, feeling completely wrung out, “’s good. A lot. Tired.”

Steve hums something unintelligible and then orders Bucky to stay upright while he stands. His hands are gentle, rubbing at Bucky’s wrists on the way down to work nimbly at the belt, slipping it from Bucky’s wrists just as soon as it’s loose enough. All the while, he’s whispering praises and endearments, saying just how proud he is and how well Bucky listens. He helps Bucky stand and leads him around the corner into his room where Bucky all but collapses onto the bed, reaching for Steve and whining when he shushes him, says, “Give me just two minutes and I’ll be right back. Promise. Count to one hundred twenty.”

Though it takes some mental coaxing, Bucky gets started counting just in time for Steve to return, wide eyed, looking concerned, and a little breathless. “Hey, see? Back.” He bounces onto the bed, eyes trained on Bucky’s face as he reaches for his wrists.

He kneads into the skin, rubbing at where Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d been tugging at the strap of his belt. The skin is pink, irritated, but it doesn’t really look like it’ll be noticeable later on. Steve massages him for a while, nudged up against him on the bed until Bucky gives a tug, silently asking for Steve to move so that he can get more comfortable. And, bless him, Steve knows exactly what Bucky’s going for, sitting up against the headboard so that Bucky can rest his head on Steve’s thigh. 

“Gonna need to get you cleaned up in a sec. Don’t want you to be uncomfortable for too long,” Steve muses. “Are you – Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Tired.”

Honestly, Bucky feels wrung out in the best possible way, like all of the tension he’s ever carried has leaked out of his muscles and been molded into something manageable by Steve’s capable hands. It’s temporary, Bucky knows, but for now he’s happy to bask in the feeling of not having to worry about anything at all.

“You…” Steve takes a breath and restarts. “I know I’m not supposed to second guess you, but…you were crying for a bit there. Do you need me to do anything else?”

Bucky takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Jus’ this, ‘s good.” There’s a beat where Bucky keeps slowly processing Steve’s words and then he says, “’s cryin’?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, bringing Bucky’s wrist up to kiss the chafed skin. “When you were about to come – and when you did. It was…it looked intense.”

Though he doesn’t really know what to say to that, Bucky hums and flexes his fingers against Steve’s sweats. And he can’t find the damp patch where he’d drooled, and apparently cried, so he realizes that these must be a fresh pair. He wonders what else Steve did while he was away. Hopefully, he used his inhaler.

“Inhaler?” Bucky asks, too tired to form the full sentence. He takes a deep breath and relaxes incrementally.

“Used it. I’m good. Stop worrying about me,” Steve says, petting over Bucky’s hair. “Just breathe and relax. Want you to keep feeling good.”

It takes time, obviously, but Steve’s content to chatter a bit while Bucky takes his time returning to coherency. Steve talks about stuff he’s read recently on a BDSM forum, how it’s pretty neat that Bucky has already done so well to go under the way he does. Apparently, it’s not all that common for people to reach subspace without some element of the heavier stuff, and especially not so often. Bucky feels pretty proud of himself when he hears that, full of warmth and a bubble of pride, especially with the way Steve’s voice gets all awed and honored as he explains it. 

After a while, Bucky shifts around so that he’s looking up at Steve again, struck frozen for a moment because of how intense his gaze is, and then he’s sliding up Steve’s body to press kisses to lips and run fingers through the silky blond strands of his hair.

“Thanks,” Bucky says.

“For what?” Steve asks, huffing a tiny laugh when Bucky’s hair tickles his throat. His palm is broad over Bucky’s shoulder, eyes sparkling as he looks up into Bucky’s eyes.

“Takin’ care of me. Do it like it’s your damn job.”

Steve shrugs, craning up to kiss Bucky’s mouth and then tugging him down hard enough for Bucky to almost collapse, still working off residual tremors. “Love doing it.” He pats at Bucky’s flank and then says, “Speaking of which: off. Gotta clean you up properly.”

Which, _yeah_ , Bucky agrees. He’s probably got Steve’s come crusted on his cheek, but of course Steve’s just gross enough to find that hot instead of, well, _gross_. 

Bucky rolls off to the side, slightly more in control of his limbs, and lies back on his elbows, content and quiet while Steve tugs the boxers down his legs and proceeds to give him a thorough wipedown with the washcloth he’d retrieved while Bucky was supposed to be counting. It feels…incredibly intimate, lying there on display while he’s soft. Vulnerable. But Bucky obviously trusts Steve more than anyone, and Steve’s grin when he finishes up only validates that feeling.

The grin turns into a sly smirk and Bucky’s almost tempted to try to cover his junk, but the lassitude is still heavy in his bones and plus he _trusts_ Steve. If he were going to do something, there’s pretty much a guarantee that Bucky would like it.

“Hang on, I’ve got something for you.” 

Steve crawls off the bed, disappears into his closet – and for a few moments there’s the sound of rummaging, hangers shifting on the bar, a drawer opening and closing – and when he reemerges, he’s brandishing – 

“ _Oh_ ,” Bucky sighs. It’s much too soon, but his cock gives a hearty twitch and he knows that Steve sees it because he’s bared completely to his eyes. “Didn’t know if ya kept those.”

He hops back onto the bed, still grinning like he’s the cleverest bastard alive, and crawls up between Bucky’s legs to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Think I’d throw these babies away? Must be out of your mind. Did have to wash ‘em, though.” 

Steve’s giddy as he slides back down, working the panties up Bucky’s legs and urging him to lift his hips. He’s gentle with it, but the moment that’s done his eyes are dark and he’s roughly grabbing Bucky by the hair, baring Bucky’s throat and kissing him hotly. It’s quick and dirty and more than enough for Bucky to get interested again, but the second he starts making noises, Steve’s backing off, slinking away to sit up on his knees and stare at where Bucky’s lying there with his chest heaving in the black panties they’d wrecked together on Saturday. 

Eyes somehow darker, Steve says, “You look good.”

Teasing, taunting, Bucky stretches out and sucks his lower lip between his teeth, letting it pop on the release. 

“Oh, my god,” Steve breathes, eyes obviously trained on Bucky’s mouth. “You’re going to be insufferable about that now, aren’t you?”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, babydoll,” Bucky teases. His words are still half-slurred, like his lips and tongue have gone lazy. 

Steve snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway,” he says, patting at Bucky’s ankle, “I’m gonna wash those and give them back next time you come over, okay? You don’t mind to wear your panties home, do you?” 

Shaking his head with wide eyes and a bitten lip, Bucky doesn’t bother hiding the way it makes him shiver, his dick twitching like he hasn’t had enough. “Don’t mind a bit.”

“Good,” Steve says. He flashes a grin and then speculatively eyes Bucky. “How’re you feeling?” `

Taking a deep breath, really assessing, Bucky says, “’m good,” with a smile and then leans up, shuffling forward until he can wrap his arms around Steve’s waist. He nuzzles into Steve’s chest, nearly knocking him sideways, but Steve just twines a hand in Bucky’s hair and grasps at Bucky’s hip with the other. He sighs, trying to clear his mind for a more thorough answer. “Just. ‘s not the same as last time, but that ain’t a bad thing. Feels more like the others.” 

Though he can’t see him, Bucky can hear the way Steve’s frowning. It’s more than likely just confusion, but he still takes a peek at Steve’s face just to be sure.

“…So, it wasn’t as good?”

“No! _No_ , it was – it was still great, Stevie. Feels good. I don’t mean –” Bucky takes a breath, trying to well and truly come back to himself so that he can explain it correctly. “It’s just…different?” He relaxes back into the feeling of Steve’s body, trying to convey just how relaxed he’s feeling now, pleasure still cresting along his skin, intensifying intermittently like the glow of lightning bugs. His chest still feels light and his head is clear. “Still real good.”

Steve hums, and it’s the kind of hum that means that this won’t be the last time they talk about it. Bucky’s okay with that. Right now he just wants to hold and be held by Steve. 

 

*

 

The rest of the week is a little bit easier to bear with Steve’s gentle encouragements, but he’s still a bit unsteady, taking each day with as much grace as possible even though the stress creeps along his shoulders and down his spine. They don’t get a chance to see one another outside of school again until Friday night, when the fellas need help picking out a welcome home gift for Bec. Bucky tries to assure them that she’s a spoiled brat who doesn’t need anything, but they tease that they love her more than Bucky, so his attempts are futile. 

They’ve been walking around the mall for an hour trying to figure out something she’d like when Steve finally pipes up, “Hey, she likes art, right? Why don’t we try The Warehouse off 49th?”

All of the fellas blink at him for a beat; Bucky barks a laugh. “C’mon, fellas, you’re really tellin’ me you didn’t think about she’d want artsy shit? She goes to _art school_ , for Christ’s sake!”

After they’ve piled into Gabe’s SUV and trekked across town, Steve leads the gang into The Warehouse like he owns the place. He’s all bundled up in a handful of scarves and some fingerless gloves, Bucky’s letterman jacket layered on top of a thick, gray sweater. He looks like he should be cozy enough, but when Bucky threads their fingers together, Steve’s feel like icicles. As they wander the isles, Bucky takes Steve’s clammy hand between both of his, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss before he lets it go so that Steve can fondle the art supplies.

Bucky wanders off in another direction, leaving Steve to mumble to himself about focal length or something, and finds a set of hand stretched canvases that Becca would probably love.

As he’s sifting through them to look for ones that don’t cost an arm and a leg, Steve appears by his side.

“Oh, does Becca paint too?” Steve asks. He actually looks curious, not just polite, and Bucky’s caught in a wave of affection. Steve just gives Bucky a tiny, prompting grin.

“Uh, probably not as much as she used to,” Bucky says. He shifts a few more canvases forward and eyes one that has a few imperfections. It’s ten bucks cheaper; Becca’ll love it. “Bet school’s taken all the fun outta doin’ it, but maybe she’d want to do somethin’ for fun while she’s on break.” 

Steve hums his interest and then wanders off again to go look through the bargain bin. 

Bucky hears his friends but generally can’t see them through the aisles, but every now and then, one of them will pop out with an armful of stuff for which they probably don’t even know the purpose. He snickers to himself as he takes out a couple of the canvases, happy to have found something for his little sister even though he knows his parents have probably gotten her something ridiculous. 

The fellas end up going in together on a set of really nice paints and Steve looks relieved, if a little embarrassed, when they include him on the group gift.

Afterwards, they eat dinner back at Gabe’s and then Steve and Bucky split off to go back to Bucky’s. 

The moment they walk in the door, Bucky calls out a hello and follows the sound of laughter to the kitchen. His parents are huddled together watching a video on Ma’s tablet, probably something linked from Facebook, and Bucky watches them for a moment with an involuntary grin, his hand secure in Steve’s.

It takes a minute, but Dad notices them and pauses the video. “Oh! Hey, fellas. How’d the gift huntin’ go?”

Bucky holds up the drawstring bag (that he’d been convinced to buy in efforts to be more eco-friendly from the dude behind the counter) containing the funky shaped canvases. “Good,” he says, “Steve and the fellas got her some paints.”

“Well, good,” Ma chimes in, coming around the island to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “I’m going to go change clothes and then do you boys want to go with me to the store? There are still a few more things I need to pick up for tomorrow.”

Looking to Steve, Bucky gives a shrug and then Steve says, “Yes, ma’am. Sounds good to me.” 

Winnie beams at Steve and then rushes off, leaving Bucky and Steve with George. “So, Steve, Bucky here tells me that you volunteer over at Saint Michael’s.”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Steve’s eyes light up and Bucky just knows he’s got a goofy grin on his own face. “I have for about three years now. They’re a good group of folks.”

Bucky’s busy watching Steve chat with his dad, not really paying attention to what’s being said until Ma comes up behind them with her keys jangling, a sly grin on her face as she asks if they’re ready. Loaded up into the car, with Ma insisting that Steve ride shotgun while she drives, Bucky sits in the middle so that he can monitor the interrogation he knows is coming. Ma doesn’t even pretend to have an ounce of subtlety when she says, “So, Steve. Tell me about yourself.”

By the time they get to the grocery store, Steve’s cheeks are pink but he’s accepting the teasing with a certain amount of grace, floundering awkwardly for words every now and then but diverting Ma’s attention by asking about how she met Dad. Once they’re inside, Bucky kind of hangs back, just listening to them chat with one another. It’s almost nice to see that Steve can’t stay cool and in command all the time – that things like compliments get him so easily flustered. 

Ma relents after she’s retrieved a cart, splitting the list in half so that they can tackle the store as quickly as possible. 

“You alright?” Bucky asks Steve, nudging him with his gently shoulder while they’re looking for shredded coconut and sweetened condensed milk. 

Steve nods, trailing a bit after Bucky’d jostled him. He gives a half-grin, says, “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Yet, anyway. Your mom’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s the best.” Bucky’s proud of his parents. He’s always thought they were pretty much the greatest thing, and he’s glad that his opinion on them hasn’t waned throughout his teenage years. 

They meet back up with Ma after they’ve found the assortment of ingredients for all the baking they’re going to do in the morning and she’s talking loudly on the phone to one of her coworkers as they load up the belt. Bucky gestures for Steve to just wait, because he can handle it, but Steve’s stubborn as hell and won’t just stand around. Ma digs through her purse for her wallet and Steve takes the plastic bags (with only a mild look of distaste, because at least they’re recyclable) full of groceries and puts them in the cart. Bucky can tell that Steve’s arms are shaking a little by the time Ma’s pushing the cart back to the car, so he walks behind him, massaging Steve’s biceps and bumping into his back every few steps.

Back home, Ma shoos them away and instead enlists Dad to help unload the groceries, so Bucky drags Steve up to his room and shuts the door behind them.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and slumps against it before he’s _crowded_ against it by Steve. 

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Steve asks, tilting his forehead against Bucky’s cheek for a minute before craning up for a quick kiss. 

Bucky hums. “Becca’s s’possed to be home around ten. Want me to pick you up before the party?”

Steve walks over and flops onto Bucky’s bed, opting to snuggle into the covers as he says, “If you want. If not I c’n drive myself.”

Maybe it’s because he looks so good in Bucky’s bed, or because he’s slurring a little because he’s tired, but when Steve blinks heavily, Bucky can’t help but get closer, close enough to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead and quietly say, “Ain’t like I mind.”

He snuggles up next to Steve, on top of the covers just in case one of his parents decides to check on them, and starts babbling about Becca and how excited she is to get to meet Steve. He knows he’s gushing about his sister, talking about how awesome she is and how much cooler she is and how all of Bucky’s friends have always loved Becca way more than him, but Steve just smiles indulgently, asking questions and twining his fingers with Bucky’s when he gets a bit too enthusiastic with his gestures. 

 

*

 

Becca comes slamming into Bucky’s room at ten in the morning on Saturday with a, “Guess who’s home, fuckhead!” and a flying elbow onto his bed. Bucky groans and tries to shuffle out from under her pointy elbows but grins at her, trying to clear the sleep out of his eyes and his voice as he mumbles out something about being glad she’s home. There’s the familiar long brown hair, green eyes, freckles and whatever floral perfume she wears that Bucky hates because it makes his ears itch. He’s missed her so much.

She doesn’t bother saying anything about the semester, just grins and uses both hands to mess Bucky’s hair into his eyes and then says, “I’m gonna nap. Wake me up before you go get Steve, alright?”

Bucky grumbles out an affirmative and sighs once Becca’s shutting the door behind herself. He heads downstairs for some coffee and finds his mother working hard on mixing brownie batter. 

“Morning, sweetie,” Ma says, grinning and looking at him from over the top of her glasses. “Your sister say hi?”

Nodding, Bucky sidles up next to rest his head on Ma’s shoulder and then leans over it to get a whiff of the brownies. She makes them with cocoa powder _and_ melted chocolate chips, and they’re so sweet that they make Bucky cry a little. They smell like his childhood and Bucky’s throat feels weirdly dry considering he’d just taken a sip of coffee. 

Ma just pats at his cheek and then says, “You wanna get started on the Hello Dollies?” 

Bucky crushes up graham crackers, chops pecans, and throws all of the ingredients together in a baking pan before Ma comes over to add a little extra sweetened condensed milk. She laughs when Bucky groans (because he _knows_ he’s going to regret all of these come Monday at practice) and then shoos him to go take a shower. 

There’s still a little over an hour before he needs to leave to pick up Steve, but Morita and Dum Dum text to say they’re bored and ask if it’d be okay to come a little early, so Bucky goes to wake Bec and tell her some of the fellas are on their way. She squeaks and asks if Gabe’s coming, and Bucky says he is just to laugh when she almost falls out of the bed, still tangled up in her comforter in her scramble to get to her bathroom.

Dad’s back home with a veggie tray and an armful of steaks (even though it’s looking like it’s definitely going to snow) for the grill on the patio when Bucky comes back down to let his dad know that people are on their way, so he’s going to go ahead and get Steve.

“Hey, wait,” Dad says, “Ya think this’ll be okay for Steve?” He shakes a box at Bucky, who recognizes the Morningstar labeling.

“Should be fine,” Bucky answers, toeing on his boots by the door. “I’m gonna go pick ‘im up. Morita and Dugan might get here before I’m back with Stevie.”

“Alright,” Dad says, already distractedly walking into the kitchen. “Drive safe!”

It’s lightly snowing by the time Bucky’s on the road, talking to Steve on speakerphone as he carefully maneuvers through traffic to the other side of town. Steve sounds nervous, taking weird hitchy breaths and pausing a bit too long like he’s fussing with his hair or something. Bucky laughs, picturing it, and Steve sounds fond and annoyed at the same time when Bucky asks if that’s what he’s doing. Which means he’s _lying_.

Once he’s pulled up and trekked up the stairs, Bucky knocks on the door and allows Steve to tug him inside. Steve presses a kiss to his chin and then leans in to rest his forehead against Bucky’s collarbone. 

Taking the cue, Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s back and tugs him close. “She’s gonna love ya, babydoll. You got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Pshh, who’s worried? I’m not worried.” Steve nuzzles even closer, his deep voice muffled into Bucky’s sweater.

“Uh, huh. Well, we’d better getta move on. I’m pretty sure Morita and Dum Dum’ll be there before us. Becca _hates_ Dum Dum, by the way.” Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, offering a half smile when Steve looks up at him. “Did I ever tell ya ‘bout the time he made her eat a dog biscuit?”

Steve snorts a laugh. “No?” He ushers Bucky out of the door and locks it behind them. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, laughing, “He’d convinced her it was a cookie, jus’ shaped like a bone, an’ she believed ‘im. Told this big, long story ‘bout how his ma was tryin’ out some new recipes an’ so she didn’t wanna be rude an’ say it smelled like shit, but ya know.” He trails down the stairs in front of Steve, taking it slow and pausing every now and then to tell more bits of story, trying not to make it obvious that he’s doing it for Steve’s sake. The look Steve gives him once they reach the ground floor says he caught on, but he doesn’t make a fuss about it, so Bucky counts it as a win. 

“She ever do anything to get back at him?” Steve asks, buckling into the passenger seat. He swipes hair out of his eyes and readjusts the beanie on his head.

Bucky fiddles with the heat dials until there’s a blast of warm air circulating through his car. “Oh, yeah,” he answers, “She shaved off one of his eyebrows. We got the pictures to prove it.”

Laughing, Steve rests his hand on Bucky’s thigh and looks out of the window. It’s an absentminded, but welcome and grounding gesture.

When they finally make it back home, the snow’s coming down just a little heavier and Bucky guides them inside and into the heat of the house and the warmth of laughter coming from the kitchen. Morita, Dugan, and Falsworth are shoving brownies into their faces while Becca’s making obscene noises about the plate of Hello Dollies she’s hoarding.

There’s a chorus of, “Steve!” when they all finally notice that they’ve arrived.

Bucky snorts. “Gee, thanks fellas.”

Becca skips over – and now that neither of them are sleep muddled, Bucky finally gets a good look at his baby sis, seeing her new haircut with the blue-green underside, the frames that look a lot like Steve’s, and –

“What the fu-rick,” Bucky amends as the patio door slides open, a burst of cool air accompanying his father, “are you wearing, peanut?”

Ignoring the question, she hugs Bucky around the neck and yanks on his bun before she rounds on Steve. “Steve,” she says, holding out her arms for a hug, “Bucky can’t shut up about ya. It’s nice to finally see ya in person.”

Morita makes kissy noises while Dum Dum pretends to gag, and Falsworth just stands there smirking.

“Nice to meet you, too, Becca.” Steve’s smile looks almost bashful, his cheeks and nose dusted a rosy pink as he pulls back from Becca’s tight hug. “Bucky’s…actually, he talks about you a lot too. Feel like I already kinda know you.”

Becca beams and tugs him in again. Bucky snags a Hello Dolly off of the plate while she’s distracted and runs over to hide behind Dum Dum once she notices. The doorbell rings, though, and then the door creaks open to reveal Gabe and Dernier, arguing in French about something or another. Becca shouts, “ _Gabe!_ ” at the top of her lungs and launches herself at him for a hug-tackle. Gabe just barely manages to pass the gift bag to Dernier before he’s got an armful of Barnes. 

Dernier smiles and clasps his hands together, jostling the gift, as he says, “C’est mignon!” which even Bucky knows has something to do with how cute they are. 

“How’ve you been, Bec?” Gabe squeezes the life out of Becca and Bucky rolls his eyes.

After a few moments, they realize they should gather plates and relocate to somewhere they can all be comfortable instead of just standing around. (Really, Ma just comes in to take some cookies out of the oven and tells them the den’s got plenty of places to sit.) Bucky and Steve hang back just a bit, waiting for a bit of space to maneuver the veggie tray out of the fridge. Steve loads up on veggies while Bucky snags himself a plate full of goodies and they trail into the den to see all of the boys focused, smiling Becca’s way as she tells them a story.

It’s something Bucky hasn’t seen since the summer and it makes his heart clench.

“Well, hey,” Gabe says, ruffling Becca’s hair until the colorful underside shows, “we all gotcha somethin’.” He gestures to Dernier who smiles widely and presents the slightly crumpled gift bag to Becca. 

“Bienvenue à la maison,” Dernier says, and then a little more carefully, “Welcome home.”

“Merci, Jacques,” Becca says, her eyes watering up as she looks around to everyone. “Thanks, fellas. You all really didn’t have to, ya know.” Even as she says it, she’s yanking the wrinkled tissue paper out of the bag and then cooing over the paints, asking if any of them knew how hard it was to get a couple of those colors and then babbling about how she’s going to paint something for each of them before she has to go back to SVA. 

After a while, some of Becca’s old high school friends show up and then music is put on and there’s punch and steak and burgers, like this is some summer get together instead of a welcome home party in the middle of winter. Becca’s clearly missed her friends, Bucky’s friends, and every so often, when Bucky gets up to find more snacks or sneaks off to have a second to himself, he returns to see her chatting with Steve and eyeing him up in the way she has all of Bucky’s past significant others. Steve always looks just a little flustered, awkward like he doesn’t quite know how to hold himself without Bucky there to anchor him.

The thought, of being just as important to Steve as Steve is to him, has Bucky’s heart hammering as he slides in for the save.

“Hey, now,” Bucky says, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “No need for all that.”

“What,” Becca says innocently, “I was jus’ tellin’ him ‘bout the time you ate a worm after readin’ that book in third grade.”

“Honestly, B,” Steve says, looking at him with this teasing glint in his eye, “I don’t know if I should stay involved with someone who took _How to Eat Fried Worms_ so seriously.”

“I was, what, six? Seven? Even I knew better.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grouses. “This was a terrible idea. You two are just gonna team up on me now, ain’tcha?” 

There’s a bit more teasing and then Bucky notices Gabe’s shooting him “SEND HELP” vibes because he’s been cornered by Carlie, Rosie, and Jackie (who’ve tried to get Bec to go by “Beckie” ever since they were in first grade together) who seem to be a little too eager for a group of sophomores.

“Hey, ‘ve you talked to the girls yet?” Bucky asks his sister. “I think they’re gonna eat Gabe alive if ya don’t pay attention to ‘em soon.”

“On it,” Becca says, like it’s a top secret mission. She zooms away to insinuate herself between her friends and Gabe, but somehow it doesn’t look any better. If anything, Gabe looks even _more_ panicked, so Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s temple before he says, “Be right back,” and goes to Plan B. 

“Barnes, bruh, you gotta come stay over soon or Mamé’s gonna kidnap you.” A little bit of the desperation leaks from Gabe’s expression and gets replaced by relief. “She says she misses your coffee dates.”

“Ah, shit, yeah, it has been a while. Promise I will soon.” Bucky scratches at the back of his neck and then hears Steve laugh from across the room, his eyes closed and his face bright and open as Dernier gestures widely and nearly sloshes some punch from his plastic cup. “Hey, I think Steve wanted to ask ya somethin’.” As he drags him over, Bucky eyes Gabe to make sure he knows that was a lie. 

Gabe’s relief is palpable, freedom from a gaggle of teenage girls letting breathe a little easier, and he squeezes at Bucky’s shoulder.

Steve’s saying, “Cela pourrait être pire,” and whatever he said must’ve been hilarious because Dernier snickers and then repeats exactly what Steve said before delving into something too quick for Bucky to parse through. Gabe laughs, too, and Bucky feels completely clueless, but warm and content with his friends and family around him.

 

*

 

Hours later, once Becca’s friends leave and the fellas head back to Gabe’s, it’s just Bucky, his family, and Steve sitting in the kitchen, snacking on leftover sweets and sipping tea while Becca regales a tale of the time she fell asleep in the darkroom and had to wait for a janitor to unlock the room the next morning. Steve’s laughing and looks almost comfortable now, leaning in like he’s listening all attentively, and responding with stories of his own art-related mishaps.

Stuffed and worn out, Bucky’s comfortable and happy enough to just sit close to Steve and listen to the rumble of his voice, happy to be surrounded by all of the people he loves.

Becca eyes Bucky and raises an eyebrow, to which Bucky shakes his head, cheeks pinkening. He rolls his eyes and Becca quirks her other brow, so Bucky shakes his head and then pouts his lower lip. Sighing, Becca stands up and gathers up both of their mugs for refills and Bucky, smiling just a little smugly, goes back to watching Steve…

…who’s looking at him with a mixture of wonder and horror. 

“You’ll get used to that,” Winnie says, waving her hand between the siblings. “When they were really little, Becca hardly ever said a word because Bucky’d talk for her. They’ve always done that.”

“But _how_ ,” Steve blurts.

Becca laughs and Bucky shrugs, smiling at Steve. “Magic. I dunno.” Yawning, Bucky accepts the mug from Becca and fades out of the conversation for a bit again, at least until Steve’s nudging him a little, and Bucky jolts. “Sh-crap. Sorry.”

“Steve, are ya stayin’ here tonight?” Becca asks. “I feel like we haven’t gotten to talk much an’ Bucky’s about to pass out into his mug.”

Huffing a little chuckle even as his ears go red, Steve glances toward Bucky’s parents and says, “Uh, no. Actually, I probably need to head home pretty quick. I’ve gotta help out with breakfast at Saint Michael’s.”

Bucky yawns again, so wide that his jaw cracks, and then he’s trying to stand, swaying just a bit as he does. 

“You sure you’ll be able to take him?” Ma asks. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Lemme jus’ grab a hoodie.” Bucky turns and heads toward the stairs, and, once he’s out of sight from his parents, gestures toward his room with his head.

After he hears Steve stammer out an excuse, he follows fairly quickly behind him. The moment the door’s shut, Bucky’s murmuring, “Steve,” and pulling him in for a hug. They’ve been fairly scant of PDA and Bucky _hates_ being this close to Steve but not able to touch him the way he wants. He wants kisses and cuddles and all kinds of dumb, embarrassing things, but he can’t exactly kneel next to Steve’s knee and beg to be pet while Bucky’s whole family is sitting around the table.

The hug turns into Bucky leaning a bit too heavily on Steve and then Steve’s pinching at Bucky’s side. His gasp is sharp, pain replaced by the headiness of having Steve’s eyes on him so intensely.

“Need you to wake up,” Steve says. “Otherwise your mom’ll have to drive us and then we can’t makeout in your car the way I know you want to.”

“Wake me up, then,” Bucky says grouchily. 

Steve tugs sharply on Bucky hair and gets his other hand around Bucky’s jaw, angling him for a kiss that’s just this side of bruising. Bucky can tell he’s whining into Steve’s mouth, grasping at his jacket and trying to Steve closer. He just – he _wants_. It’s sudden and hot and consuming. Bucky gasps, making it all too easy for Steve to take advantage of the movement to bite at Bucky’s lip, slip his tongue into the space while Steve crowds him up against the wall. 

Dizzy with want and Steve, Bucky leans down and lifts Steve from just under his ass, hitching Steve’s legs around his waist and leaning against the wall, feeling pinned even though he’s the one who did it to himself. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, eyes full of heat just before he leans back in for another, rougher, kiss. 

Bucky’s getting hard, heavy with the need to rut against the way Steve’s writhing in his hold, twisting Bucky’s hair over his fist and scraping his fingers into the patchy stubble over Bucky’s jaw. He squeezes at Steve’s thighs, hoping to get his message across when –

There’s a knock.

Of _course_ there’s a knock. Bucky’s whole family is still awake and downstairs and Bucky’s supposed to be taking Steve home. They disentangle as quickly as possible, Steve disappearing into Bucky’s ensuite bathroom as Bucky clears his throat and calls, “Come in.” He quickly ducks toward his closet, pulling out the closest hoodie and tugging it over his head just as his door opens. It’s as good excuse as any as to why his hair’s all messy and Bucky tries to look innocent as his sister steps into his room.

“Hey, can I…” Her eyes light up as she stares Bucky down. She hisses, “You were totally makin’ out with ‘im, weren’tcha?”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bucky mutters, tugging his hair band out and redoing his bun. Otherwise, he ignores the comment.

“Anyway,” Becca says, mischievous glint in her eye as she folds her arms over her chest. “Can I come with?” 

Bucky narrows his eyes at her and says, “I guess,” just as he hears the toilet flush. The sink runs and then Bucky hears the hiss of Steve’s inhaler. 

“Sweet,” Becca says, just as the door opens, scampering off to her own room. “I’m gonna get my shoes!”

Sighing, Bucky rubs at his eyes and opens them to see Steve smirking at him. “She comin’ with us?”

Bucky adjusts himself, not even bothering with an attempt at subtlety because it’s partially due to Steve anyway. He grumbles a, “Yes,” and then leads the way downstairs to grab his wallet, keys, and shoes. Steve follows at a more sedate pace, ending up almost getting knocked over by Becca when she decides to slide halfway down the bannister. 

“Be back later!” Bucky calls, not bothering to wait on a response from his parents.

Becca lets Steve have shotgun and once they’ve dropped him off, she climbs over the center console much to Bucky’s annoyance. “Would it kill ya to use the door?”

“Kill me? No. Require effort? Yes.” Becca straps in and barely waits until Bucky’s put the car into reverse before she gives a squealing little shriek, bouncing in her seat. “He’s so fuckin’ _cute_ , Bucky! How in the hell didja manage to land him?”

“Gee, thanks, peanut.” 

“Shut up, fuckface,” she says, rolling her eyes and waving a hand. “You know what I meant.”

Bucky sighs, sleepiness creeping back up on him now that Steve’s out of proximity. “Yeah, yeah. But, honestly? I dunno, Bec. He’s perfect.”

“And he calls you, ‘B,’ that’s too fuckin’ much.” Becca covers her face with both of her hands and kicks her feet. “God,” she says suddenly, punching him in the arm.

“OW,” Bucky says, “Don’t fuckin’ punch me while I’m drivin’, dumbass. I could kill us!”

Becca ignores him. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that Gabe got even _hotter?!_ Is he single?”

“Jesus, Bec.” Bucky tries to rub at the spot that’s throbbing on his arm. 

“ _Is he single?_ ” Becca asks again. She raises her fist like she’s ready to punch him again.

“Ack, fuck, he’s –” It’s…not that. Gabe’s asexual. He’d told Bucky that – or something pretty similar with a shrug and a smile when Bucky’d asked what his type was a few summers ago. It’s not difficult to explain, really, it’s just not Bucky’s shit to tell. “I don’t think he wants to date anyone.”

Becca settles in the passenger seat, huffing a breath that makes her bangs go all haphazard across her forehead. She doesn’t seem to really get it, because she’s mumbling, “Well, I guess that makes sense. I mean, if I were him, I’d wanna keep my options open for college, too. Probably smart…”

Bucky lets that sit, even though it feels a little bit like lying, and manages to get them home in one piece. 

Up in his room, Bucky kicks off his shoes and shrugs out of his sweater and jeans, flopping down on his bed that still smells just the tiniest bit like Steve. It makes Bucky feel safe and warm even as his stomach swoops at how much he misses him already. So, he pulls out his phone, texts Steve: _Home safe!_

Steve’s response is immediate: _Good. Your family is the cutest btw. Becca seems to adore you._

She does, and it’s mostly because Bucky spent as much of his childhood as possible trying to prove that he was the coolest older brother ever. He’s always included her in everything, even when other kids made fun of him for always letting her tag along. Nat never minded and Peggy thought she was a sweetheart. The fellas _clearly_ adore her, even though they had to bear her horrible middle school phase. 

Bucky replies: _I’m just glad Ma didn’t pull out the baby albums._

_Baby albums? She has everything on her phone, don’t worry. You were the cutest little chunk I’ve ever seen._

Groaning to himself, Bucky buries his face in his pillow.

His phone vibrates one last time: _Payback for the bowl cut pictures! ;) Get some rest, B. Text me when you’re up._

With a smile, Bucky texts his goodnight and leans over to turn off his lamp.


	9. midterms and a first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wakes up on Sunday morning well before his alarm goes off. At first, he’s grumbling to himself, wondering why the fuck he’s awake so goddamn early, but when he rolls over, he sees his phone screen lit up against the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who gets to graduate in May (hint: it's me) but also guess who is experiencing a severe case of senioritis (hint: it's me again). anywho, i figured 7 months is long enough to wait for an update, so i split this one in half and decided this was sufficiently long enough to post. as always, feel free to harass me on tumblr!

Bucky wakes up on Sunday morning well before his alarm goes off. At first, he’s grumbling to himself, wondering why the fuck he’s awake so goddamn early, but when he rolls over, he sees his phone screen lit up against the darkness. 

_Relative_ darkness, anyway, because the glow coming through the curtains denotes the rising sun. 

Shoving his hand into his hair, Bucky yawns and then scrubs his hands over his eyes before turning the brightness down enough that he can actually focus on his phone’s screen. It proves to be too difficult, though, Bucky’s vision swimming, so instead he locks the screen and clutches his pillow before falling back into his dream. 

The second time he awakens, it’s because Becca is pulling his hair and saying, “Wake up, fuckhead, I wanna go on a walk,” because she’s the most inconsiderate human being on the planet. When he says as much, she pinches the back of his arm, where it’s the most sensitive, and whines, “Get _up_ ,” directly in his ear. “I wanna go before it snows later!”

Because Bucky is a _goddamn saint_ , he huffs a barely audible sigh, rolls over, and sits up, his blankets pooling around his hips. He shoves his hair out of his eyes and grumbles something affirmative enough for Becca to scamper away. 

Before doing anything else, Bucky checks his phone, vaguely remembering the early hours of the morning. It’s a text from Steve: _I know you’re not up yet (and I hope this doesn’t wake you) but I already miss you. So, just text me when you’re up I guess. Or call me. Either one’s fine. Miss you._

It’s…Bucky’s pretty sure that Steve has never done this before, and yeah, it has his heart pounding its way up into his throat, fluttery with fondness and a bashful kind of pride, but it’s also a bit worrisome. It makes him wonder if Steve’s okay. Because it would be a lot to process, even if Steve’s not really thinking about it directly. Bucky’s family is close and affectionate and even though it’s the same way with the fellas, he’s pretty sure it feels different to Steve, seeing them all together like that. Bucky doesn’t want to assume things, but. He’s pretty sure Steve might be feeling lonely now.

Just thinking about it makes Bucky’s heart ache.

He types out quickly: _I’m up. I miss you too, Stevie. You alright?_

He’s barely up and out of bed before Becca comes flouncing back in. She makes disgusted noises about seeing Bucky in only his boxer-briefs, but it doesn’t seem to stop her from flopping down onto his bed while he shuffles into his closet and tugs out some warm clothes. 

“Ya ready, peanut?” Bucky asks, ready to tug his sister bodily down the stairs and out the door since she’d been the one so adamant about taking a walk. She’s looking way too comfortable in Bucky’s bed and he’s the one who would’ve been content to sleep for another few hours. “C’mon, you said ya wanna take a walk; so let’s take a walk. I got a shitload of homework to finish.”

“Oh, right,” Becca says, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “Some of us ain’t finished with midterms, I guess.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky tugs on his boots and then a beanie and gloves before holding the door open for his sister. 

 

*

 

Steve still hasn’t responded by the time Bucky and Becca get back from their walk. Bucky tries not to think too much of it, but still feels more than a little worried. Becca sits on the end of his bed while Bucky sits at his desk and tries to parse through his final review notes, cracking open his Calc book to work through a few more problems just for practice. 

By the time noon rolls around, Bucky is, miraculously, finished with all but a few questions on his English review and _finally_ he hears from Steve. It’s a text that says: _Yeah, I guess I just felt weird last night. Are you okay?_

Bucky types out: _Aside from bein hungry, yeah. Only got a few questions left on the English review and then I’m all set for midterms next week. Weird how?_

Tabling his phone, and the reviews, Bucky traipses downstairs to forage for something to eat for lunch and ends up making a pile of sandwiches (because he’s _starving_ ) to sneak back up to his room. And as soon as he shoulders the door shut, he sees his phone screen lit up with a message from Steve: _I…don’t know how to explain it, actually. I just. I wanted to hold you and make sure you were alright. It was...weird._

Mouth full of PB&J, Bucky sets his phone aside and tugs his laptop over to start doing some research. He’d read all about sub drop after his own experience with it, but hadn’t thought to see if people like Steve could go through anything like that as well. A few seconds later, Bucky’s phone buzzes with a “gotta get back to work” from Steve that doesn’t really make Bucky feel any better about the whole situation, but, on the bright side, it does allow time for him to really thoroughly search for information about people like Steve. Dominants. Doms.

Most of the sources he’s skimmed say lots of stuff about impact-play. It’s a little confusing, because they’ve never done anything impact related, aside from maybe a few playful swats here and there, so there’s no way that that could actually apply to the situation. 

Honestly, Bucky’s sorta-kinda warming up to the idea of Steve giving him more than just that. He’d probably be cool with a lot more than just a spanking, but wouldn’t want to do anything that would interfere with football or track, which’ll be starting after winter break. 

It’s a scary thought, but one that Bucky’s had more than a few times. Sometimes he wonders just how far he’d let Steve take him. It takes almost nothing to send Bucky down into that headspace where he feels warm and safe and floaty; just _thinking_ about it is enough to make his skin hum. If they did more…if Steve actually _hit_ Bucky, with intent, just his hand on Bucky’s bare skin…

Shaking his head, Bucky casts aside his thoughts with a steady breath and gets back to reading.

Another common indicator of “top drop” seems to be going from a scene to the real world in which they have significantly less control.

Which, when Bucky thinks about it, makes a ton of sense. Steve’s an incredibly smart fella – the kind that could probably get pretty damn far without any kind of guidance, just because he’s got the particular brand of drive that most people lack. He’s being raised by his aunt, and while she’s admittedly pretty cool, she’s not Steve’s parent. And then on top of all of that, another problem is that he’s tiny and sick and stuck retaking classes that he’s already passed just because he didn’t have the money to concurrently enroll in university courses. None of that is cause for pity, of course, but Bucky does feel a little bit bad that it seems to all be getting to Steve.

He doesn’t deserve that.

Either way, Bucky can’t be absolutely positive that Steve’s going through this at all. The only thing that Bucky can resolve to do is ask.

Becca barges in not even two minutes later with an, “I’m bored,” flopping down on Bucky’s bed like she owns the place. She probably thinks she does.

Bucky casually minimizes the browser. “I dunno what you want me to do about it, kiddo. I’ve gotta study.”

Blowing out a sigh, Becca rolls onto her side. “But I wanna talk about boys.”

“That’s too bad,” Bucky breezes.

“I mean, girls are fine too, ya know,” she retorts.

Bucky shrugs. “I’m more into fellas lately.” 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Becca groans, “you’re no fun. Givin’ me nothin’ to work with. What happened to ya, bro?”

Pulling a face, Bucky opens his mouth and –

“ _No_ , no. No. _No_. Nevermind.” She puts up a hand, disgust curling the corners of her mouth. “I don’t – god, you’re fuckin’ gross, Bucky.” 

“You asked,” Bucky points out with another shrug. He giggles a little bit to himself, and then he remembers how he’s supposed to take Steve on a date sometime in the near future, turns to his sister and says, “Hey, where d’ya think I should take Steve on a date?”

Becca twists onto her side, narrowing her eyes at Bucky. “What does he like? Aside from, ya know, _you._ ”

Bucky scratches at his head and tries to really think about it. “Art?” They’d talked about stuff a while back – movies and shows and stuff about their childhood – but they’d never really hit their current hobbies and interests. Bucky knows that Steve paints and creates all kinds of neat stuff in his free time, like that vintage war poster hanging up in his room. He kind of gets the feeling that Steve really seems to enjoy the aesthetic of the WWII era, but doesn’t know what he could do with that aside a trip to a museum. “Should I take ‘im to an art gallery – The Met, or somethin’?” 

“Christ, Bucky, you don’t even know what all the fella likes?”

“We’ve been a little busy!” Bucky says, trying (and failing) to keep from getting screechy. “Why ya gotta bust my balls about it? He ain’t complainin’.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Becca retorts, rolling her eyes. “No sense of romance. Okay, what ya need to do is drop hints throughout next week to see what he’d be up for. See what he thinks about the classic dinner an’ a movie thing, if he’d like to go, I dunno, ice skatin’ or somethin’.” She waves a hand, rolling her eyes at whatever she sees on Bucky’s face. “An art gallery’d be nice but you need to know _why_. Don’t just do stuff ‘cause ya think he’d like it; find out _why_ he likes it so you can appreciate ‘im more. Know what I’m sayin’?”

Bucky wonders when the hell Becca learned all this stuff. Last time he checked, she was still only fifteen. Who the hell let her get so wise? 

“ _What?_ ” she asks pointedly. 

“Nothin’, just…” Bucky shrugs, smiling. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Becca says with a shrug, “an’ don’t gimme any details.” She rolls off of Bucky’s bed and manage to land on her feet, ruffling Bucky’s hair as she passes him by, saying, “Just snag me a date with Gabe an’ we’ll call it even,” on her way out.

“ _Oy vey,_ ” Bucky mutters at his computer screen.

Only a few hours pass before Bucky hears from Steve, and he’s gotten enough studying done to make him wonder why in the hell he’d been stressing so hard about this earlier, so he doesn’t feel any guilt whatsoever about settling back on his bed with his phone cradled against his ear, no obligation to do anything other than give a warm, “Heya, Stevie,”” when he answers.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says, barely more than a breath, “Hi.”

Hesitation plagues Bucky for a moment; concern wrenches at his heart, urges him to go ahead and ask, “Everything alright?”

There’s silence for a beat, a blown breath that articulates frustration and discontent clearly enough. “Yeah, I mean. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” 

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, coaxing the way Steve’s done for Bucky a million times, “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Steve sighs again and says, “I just want to see you. Can I – Nevermind, it’s – I’m being stupid –”

“Stop tryin’ to talk yourself out of it. Whatever you’re…whatever’s goin’ on with you is important. _You’re_ important.” Bucky takes a deep breath, realizing just how close he is to saying something he wouldn’t ever be able to take back. He’s felt it for long enough but it’s. It’s still too soon. His voice shakes, goes quieter even as he says, fierce as anything, “An’ I just want you to know that I care about you. Same as you care about me. So just. You can talk to me, yeah?”

“I know,” Steve says, voice strained over a humorless laugh. “Thanks. Hey, I gotta go. I’ll text you later on.”

The line disconnects before Bucky can get a word in and – yeah, he’s definitely thinking that top drop is a thing. It hardly takes any deliberation on Bucky’s part at all before he’s shrugging on a coat, toeing on boots, and – hey, might as well kill two birds with one stone. 

“Hey, dad?” Bucky calls as he’s clomping down the stairs, heading toward Dad’s study until he hears his answer from the direction of the garage. When he gets there, he sees his dad elbow deep in the hood of his car. “Uh, whattaya doin’?”

“Puttin’ in a new radiator,” George answers, “Wanna help?”

“Yeah, uh,” Bucky says, tugging his coat right back off and pushing the sleeves of his Henley up to his elbows. “You think afterwards we could go to Saint Michael’s? Maybe get a lay of the land?” 

George grunts a little as he tries to get the new thermostat fitted just right, saying, “Yeah, sure, just – can ya go run the hose for me?”

Bucky opens up the garage and shivers at the burst of crisp winter air. “Gotta flush it, ‘uh?” It’s a little bit of a hassle to get the hose going since the pipes are just about cold enough to freeze the water.

“Yeah, got all rusty this summer, I guess.” 

It’s relatively easy to fall into the steps and gentle commands doled out by his father, helping him flush the reservoir and reinstall the thermostat, disconnect all the hoses. There’s a certain rhythm to car repair that Bucky’s always loved, and it’s always ten times easier when there’s an end result in sight. Really, it’s no secret that Bucky’s always been a pretty task-oriented kind of guy and the fulfillment that comes from seeing something he’s worked on up and actually running is hard to match.

Except, of course, the whole thing he does with Steve.

Once they’ve washed up and checked to make sure nothing’s leaking, Bucky’s dad drives them over to Saint Michael’s and – Bucky’s weirdly nervous when they pull up. It’s just past seven, which means that they should’ve just finished serving dinner, so hopefully the nuns’ll have a little bit of time for them before evening Sacrament of Penance. Sister Mary Margaret, one that Bucky’s only met in passing, greets them at the front door and then disappears down the hall, presumably to get Sister Mary Prudence.

Voice low, Bucky’s dad leans over and says, “I see whatcha mean, kiddo,” and nods toward the water damage on the far wall. He’s wandering around the lobby area, hands in his pockets, when Sister Mary Prudence makes her appearance.

“I presume you’re James’s Jewish father?” she asks bluntly and – Jesus Christ, this lady doesn’t mess around.

Dad wheels around, looking weirdly chastised for a man his age when he finally faces her. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, offering out his hand for her to shake. “George is fine, though, Sister Mary Prudence.” 

Bucky very nearly snorts, because that’s definitely where his humor comes from, but smothers it just in time to see Sister Mary Prudence’s mouth curl into an amused grin. 

“I suppose that’ll work,” she says drily. Her hands disappear into the folds of her robes as she squares up, eyes intense as she looks at George. “James tells me he’d like to do some repairs. Would you like a brief tour of the premises?”

Bucky follows after them, eyeing over the problematic places he’d noticed and mentioned to his father as they go through the building, watching as his father nods and speaks softly with Sister Mary Prudence, asking questions about the building’s history. They loop around toward the kitchen and – Bucky sees Steve and he –

“Hey, Buck,” George says, “Why don’tcha go on an’ give Steve a hand with those tables? Sister an’ I should talk about contracts an’ all that fun stuff. I’ll come an’ getcha when we’re done, alright?”

“Okay, Dad,” Bucky says, voice nearly hoarse. 

Steve looks – he looks thinner and wanner than Bucky’s ever seen him, tiny as ever in a sweater and his ever-present green coat. There are dark circles under his eyes and a concerning twist to the corner of his mouth, making him look even more pissed off at the world than usual.

He crosses the kitchen and heads on through to the dining area, watching Steve struggle to mop around the heavy collapsible chairs. “Heya, Stevie,” Bucky says, and – Steve jumps, but smiles so brightly that Bucky could almost believe that he’s okay.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, closing his eyes like he’s savoring the sight, like Bucky’s just a hallucination, welcome though he may be. When they open again, they’re shiny and crinkled around the edges. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky saunters a little closer, tugging Steve in for a quick, clinging hug. “Here with Dad to see about the repairs. Sister Mary Prudence is definitely tryin’ to put him through the paces.”

Steve huffs a laugh and leans back against the edge of one of the tables. “Wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, moving close enough that he can nudge the back of Steve’s hand with his own. “You okay?”

Looking up at Bucky, an intensity that Bucky’s only used to seeing when he’s – when _they’re_ – so, yeah, it’s a little weird that Steve’s looking at Bucky like this when they’re in a homeless shelter that essentially doubles as a Catholic church as well as Steve’s place of employment. Sort of. Regardless, Steve’s silent, but he’s licking at his bottom lip and furrowing his brow, clearly trying to parse through _something_. 

“Yeah,” Steve finally answers. “I think so. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Bucky wants – he needs to ask Steve if he thinks he’s experiencing the whole top-drop thing, but it’s definitely neither the time nor the place to discuss such a thing, so instead he asks Steve if he wants a little bit of help cleaning. Steve, predictably, gets a little bristly at that, but Bucky honestly just wants to help and when he tells Steve as much, he seems to understand. He gives Bucky gentle orders to move certain chairs or to fold them up and put them in the storage closet. 

“How much longer are ya gonna be here, Stevie?” Bucky asks once he’s put away the last chair. 

Steve finishes mopping up the last corner. “Uh, ’til eight,” he answers, unfolding the ‘wet floor’ sign before sticking the mop back into its container. “Why?”

Shrugging, Bucky says, “Dunno. Just wanted to know if I could call you when I got home, but _apparently_ I’m gonna have to wait.” He folds his arms and bites at his lower lip.

Sidling up next to him, Steve blows out a breath and tugs his hair out of his face. He leans a hip against the table Bucky has his palms on and reaches out to touch Bucky’s cheek, quickly sliding it down to rest on his shoulder like he’d maybe remembered where they are. The softest of smiles graces Steve’s lips, and just like that it’s gone, hidden beneath a serious look as Steve says, “Thanks for being here.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says, wishing he could just lean in and kiss Steve. “I mean it.”

Steve’s just barely opened his mouth to respond when Bucky’s dad comes in through the arch leading to the west hall. His mouth clasps shut and he gives Bucky a tight, slightly strained smile and drops his hand from Bucky’s shoulder. “Just. Call me tonight,” Steve says softly.

Bucky replies, “Promise,” and then watches Steve shrug on that persona that makes Bucky’s knees weak, all confidence and bravado, as George approaches.

“Steve,” George says, with a smile, “Pleasure to see ya. How’ve ya been?” 

Steve looks a little bit at a loss, but he recovers quickly and says, “Alright. How about yourself?” like there had been no hesitation at all. It might only be obvious to Bucky that he’s lying through his teeth about being fine, but Bucky’s dad accepts Steve’s words at face value and goes on to tell Steve about Bucky helping him with the new radiator in his car. 

Bucky watches the way Steve’s brow raises and his mouth quirks before he clears his throat and says, “That’s, uh. I didn’t know about – Pretty cool.” He clears his throat again and says, with a bit more forced pep, “Guess I’d better finish up here. You guys take it easy.”

George gives a cheesy, “Don’t work too hard!” and then leads the way back toward the main hall.

It should probably bother Bucky more than it actually does that Steve doesn’t actually look up at him when he says, “I’ll call ya later,” but Steve does wave, so Bucky figures he’s busy processing, or whatever.

During the ride home, the car is filled with Christmas music playing softly on the radio and Dad’s chatter, but Bucky’s stuck on thinking about Steve. He seemed to relax a bit when Bucky was there, but the moment it wasn’t just the two of them, he tensed right back up. Which is…okay. But Bucky’s definitely still worried about the guy.

Back home, it takes every ounce of Bucky’s willpower to buckle down and go back over his reviews one last time instead of calling Steve.

He’s supposed to have two each day, so he’ll have more time to cram each night. First thing tomorrow morning, he’ll have to take his Calc midterm and then in the afternoon, after a two hour break for lunch, it’ll be art. The day after that he probably won’t Steve at all, at least not until lunch, since their schedules don’t line up. Bucky’s kind of dreading it.

Thankfully, though, after Wednesday, they’ll have an entire two weeks to relax and enjoy the holidays.

When nine o’clock finally rolls around, Bucky can’t call Steve quickly enough.

For a while, Bucky just chatters about school and fucking Stane and how he’s been studying his ass off for midterms and hanging out with his sister, but eventually, Steve’s near silence grates on Bucky more than it probably should, so he finally just asks, “Are ya feelin’ okay?” Aside from being genuinely concerned for Steve’s health, he’d been looking at options for taking Steve out on a date, but if he’s feeling sick or fatigued or whatever, then Bucky’ll have more time to plan.

Steve sounds like he’s trying very hard to hold in a sigh. “Fine, Bucky.”

“Steve…” Bucky starts, trailing off when he realizes that he’s. Not _scared_ , per se. But he doesn’t want to make Steve think that he’s pitying him or anything like that, especially not when he’s actually hoping to plan a date that Steve enjoys so much with Bucky that it helps get him out of his top-drop funk.

Which, now that Bucky’s really thinking about it, is probably a result of their last time together, when Bucky’d felt everything so intensely that he’d apparently cried in the middle of it. 

Kinda makes sense that Steve would be a little freaked out about it.

After a deep breath, Bucky asks, “You know I’m okay, right?” He pauses for a second, listening for Steve’s reaction. From what he can tell, that tiny noise of surprise tells Bucky that _bingo_. Got it right on the nose. “I don’t think I really, uh, gave you the chance after last time to really ask me how I felt an’ stuff. Which, it was – fuckin’ incredible, you have to know that. If I didn’t like somethin’ ya know I’d tell ya, right? I trust ya, Stevie. An’ I love what we do.” Bucky takes another deep, steadying breath. “You gotta trust me when I say stuff like that or we’ll have to stop doing it an’ just...I don’t know, try to take things easy.”

“I…” Steve blows out a breath that comes through as mostly static across the line. “Yeah, okay, Buck.”

Bucky asks, “Good?”

“Yeah, I’m – we’re good. Sorry I wasn’t…talking to you. I trust you, too, ya know?”

“I know ya do, Stevie,” Bucky says, “But, hey, as soon as midterms are over, we’ll get to spend some time together right?”

Steve makes a soft, low sound, like he’s wistful and happy all at once. “Of course,” he says. “You got any plans for the weekend?”

Bucky huffs a laugh, caught between wanting to tell a fib just to keep Steve surprised and needing to tell Steve the truth. “I’m plannin’ on takin’ ya somewhere. On a date.”

“Bucky Barnes, you sly dog,” Steve says, interest clearly piqued, “Where to?”

“Uh-uh, it’s a surprise. But, uh, which day would work better for ya this weekend?”

Steve sounds entirely too amused when he answers, “Friday or Sunday. I’ll be at Saint Michael’s most of Saturday.” 

“Alright,” Bucky says, “good to know.” 

Chatting about nothing in particular, Bucky falls into the kind of lull that only Steve can put him into, not quite floating, but comfortable and safe and happy. Aside from maybe working out, there’s pretty much nothing on earth that can get him calm like Steve’s deep voice. It’s not until Steve gives a gentle, “Hey, Bucky, we both oughta get some rest before our tests tomorrow,” that Bucky really snaps back to it.

“Right, okay.”

Something about Bucky’s tone must give away the fresh wave of tension, because Steve says, “I know you’re worried, but you’re gonna do great,” before they hang up –

– and it turns out that Steve’s right. 

Mr. Foltz grades their tests once everyone has finished and hands them back to go over when they’ve still got thirty minutes left of their stretched first period. Bucky practically melts into the cool metal of his desk when he sees the ninety-six percent in red ink and circled, suffused with relief and pride and – gratitude, honestly, because there was no way on earth he would’ve gotten this good of a grade had Steve not studied with him.

Even though Foltz has a policy on not sharing grades in class, Bucky can’t help but turn and grin hugely at Steve once he’s able to stop gaping at his paper in stunned disbelief. And Steve just looks so fucking proud that Bucky wants to curl up at his feet and beam up at him, accept whatever kind words and gentle touches Steve wants to dole out.

The remaining thirty minutes pass with Bucky mostly just staring at his work, the little red checkmarks at the bottom of almost each problem that indicate he’d written it all out correctly. He’s thrilled, mostly, and then beating himself up over the two problems that he’d flubbed up, realizing his mistakes before Mr. Foltz even starts to go over them. 

Afterwards, when the bell rings for them to be released to their extra-long lunch, Bucky’s practically bouncing on his heels as he makes his way over to Steve.

A slow, proud smirk spreads across Steve’s mouth. “How’d you do?” Steve asks, taking Bucky’s hand as they make their way out of the classroom and head toward the commons.

“Got a ninety-fuckin’-six,” Bucky practically shouts, squeezing at Steve’s palm. “Holy shit, I couldn’t hardly believe it, Stevie – he ain’t even curved it yet, an’ I already got an A. That’ll bring my grade up for sure.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Steve says, grinning up at Bucky.

They emerge into the commons, teeming with students of all ages – even the goddamn _freshman_ , ugh – clamoring for tables or making a beeline for the parking lot, and Bucky’s kind of rethinking their plan to eat in the cafeteria and then head toward the library to get in a little extra studying before their art midterm. Mostly, he wants to take advantage of the two hours to suck Steve’s dick in thanks, but he stops _that_ thought in its tracks when he sees Gabe making his way through the crowd towards them.

“Cap, Bucky,” Gabe says, voice lilting like he’s pleasantly surprised, “The fuck y’all been lately? Haven’t see ya since –”

“Becca’s party on Saturday,” Bucky fills in, nudging Gabe in the shoulder. “Don’t even, pal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabe says, shoving Bucky back. The motion jostles Bucky into Steve, but Steve just slings an arm around Bucky’s waist and goes with it, quirking an eyebrow at Gabe until Gabe looks properly apologetic. “Y’all wanna go get somethin’ at The Diner with me and Jacques? Morita’s studyin’ and Dum Dum’s bangin’ his girl or some shit, I dunno.”

Bucky looks to Steve and gives him a shrug, his eyes wide and bright, and smiles when Steve answers, “Sure, Gabe,” and then delves into something in French while they follow Gabe out to the parking lot.

The Diner isn’t as packed as it usually is, like most kids wanted to get something fancier or go home to nap, but the food’s cheap and the conversation is easy. Bucky’s feeling a lot less stressed than he had all last week already – just one test down, and he’s bounced back to normal. In hindsight, it’s kind of annoying, because Bucky _knows_ he shouldn’t get anxious the way he does when he’s aware of how hard he’s willing to work for what he wants to achieve, but it’s going to happen anyway. These ups and downs have followed him his whole life and they’re not going to stop now.

Steve and Jacques share one side of the booth while Bucky and Gabe sit across from them, flicking fries and balled up napkins at each other until their food’s gone. 

With his foot trapped between both of Steve’s, Bucky feels relaxed enough to sink just a tiny bit, laughing loosely at Gabe’s recounting of some double date he accidentally went on with Dum Dum, Lakshmi, and her best friend Hannah. She’d been nice enough, but way too handsy, and afterwards Dugan had promised Gabe he’d detail his car for him.

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” Gabe asks, leaning forward onto his elbows. Dernier pats at his wrist and says something that _sounds_ consoling in French, but it makes Steve snort, so Bucky’s not so sure. Gabe shoves his hand off and pouts.

Smothering a laugh, Bucky says, “Yeah, pal, I’d say that’s fair. Oughtta make ‘im shine your shoes while he’s at it.”

Steve laughs and Gabe looks dubiously at Bucky, asking, “What decade are you even _from_ , bruh?” as he jostles into Bucky with his shoulder. “Do people still get their shoes shined?” 

They keep teasing and shoving each other around even as they make their way out to the parking lot and back to school. There’s still plenty of time for Bucky and Steve to go to the library, but Bucky’s feeling confident enough to suppress the urge to cram since he’s already got most of it memorized, thanks to Steve. 

“You want to head to the library or stay here?” Bucky quietly asks Steve after slinging an arm around his neck to press a kiss to his temple.

“I’m good wherever you are,” Steve answers. 

It gives Bucky pause, because that – Steve’s bossy and it’s something Bucky really likes about him, which makes that whole thing kind of problematic. Regardless of that niggling thought, Bucky keeps his concerns unvoiced and sticks close to Steve’s side throughout the rest of lunch, quizzing each other over art problems between joking around and listening to Gabe whine about his German midterm while Dernier messes around on his phone.

By the time the bell’s about to ring, Dum Dum and Lakshmi have made it back and Falsworth has resurfaced from the depths of the science labs and, even though Morita’s still MIA, Bucky’s chest is warm at the thought of (almost) his whole group of friends all together again.

The art final is literally just a regurgitation of the review Mr. Fraser had them do; the only difference is that the questions have been shuffled. Bucky huffs a laugh when he realizes it and feels the nudge of Steve’s boot against his own as they start filling in answers. Steve finishes first, of course, and Bucky makes sure to double check all of his answers before he turns his in, leaving both of them to sit silently while the rest of the students struggle through their own exams. The moment the last kid hands in her test, Mr. Fraser’s music starts playing through the speakers and Bucky relaxes fully into his chair, reaching out at the same moment that Steve does so they can hold hands beneath the table.

With the other students talking and music playing, Steve gets a little frustrated with how many times he asks Bucky to repeat himself, so Bucky gestures for Steve’s sketchpad, opening it from the back so that he doesn’t accidentally see something Steve doesn’t want to share, and passes him a note like they’ve gone back in time to middle school.

“Come get your tests,” Mr. Fraser calls out from his desk.

For a second, panic grips Bucky’s throat and squeezes, but one look at Steve’s eyebrow quirking tamps it down somewhere beneath Bucky’s ribs. 

The day’s already just about over and Bucky feels like he hasn’t done much of anything – but then he thinks about the two solid A’s to his name, the fact that he’s spent his entire day with Steve, and well. That’s definitely okay with Bucky. The mark of a day well spent.

They say goodbye at the end of the day, even though Bucky’s pretty sure Steve would’ve accepted a ride home if Bucky had prodded just a little bit more, and Bucky drives home feeling more content than he has in over a week. 

Tuesday is pretty much a repeat of Monday, minus the extra dosage of Steve-time, so Bucky blazes through his AP Chem midterm and then gets to dick around in student council with Falsworth after lunch. It’s a relatively easy day, considering all of the flashcards Bucky’d had to memorize, and Wednesday’s supposed to be even easier. All he has left is English, and then he’s pretty much free to go.

Wednesday night, after everything is all said and done, the entire gang gathers at Gabe’s house for a Thank Fuck That Shit’s Over party, pizza and cheap beer flowing freely beneath Gabe’s mom’s watchful eye (only because she’s already hidden all of their keys and refuses to let any of them leave the den). Bucky’s not anywhere near buzzed, but he does feel loosely relaxed and happy to be surrounded by all of his friends and Gabe’s family before they all split up for the holidays.

“What about y’all,” Gabe is asking around another mouthful of pizza, “You goin’ anywhere, Barnes?”

“Figured you’da already asked Becca by now,” Bucky comments, smirking around the mouth of his beer, “but nah, we got that outta the way durin’ Thanksgiving. Family usually heads our way since we’re pretty much middle ground.”

Steve’s looking at Bucky kind of funny, like he’s excited maybe, but he doesn’t say anything even when Gabe starts in on teasing Bucky about that time he’d taken a girl he’d been dating to a family Fourth of July barbeque and she’d been a vegetarian. Which, yeah, clearly that relationship hadn’t lasted much longer or been all that much to begin with, but still. Rude.

It’s not until the end of the night, snuggling up against each other while Dum Dum and Dernier snore loud enough to drown out the movie none of them are actually watching that Steve finally broaches the topic by asking, “Staying here, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky answers quietly, feeling way too mellow with Steve petting over Bucky’s hair to have a serious conversation.

Thankfully, Steve just grins, says, “Good,” and keeps petting Bucky.

 

*

 

Bucky wakes up to Dum Dum’s socked toe going up his nose and flails a bit wildly until he remembers Steve, and instead settles for gripping Dum Dum’s ankle and twisting so that he spills over the carpet and Morita sprawled on the nearby loveseat. Once the squawking and shouting has settled, Bucky flops back down against the makeshift pallet and shoves his hair out of his face, Steve’s hand curling around his shoulder, blinking slowly and wrinkling his nose in a sleepy smile as Bucky’s heart tries to settle.

It’s the middle of the night – technically early morning – but the light filtering in from beyond the curtains leaves a soft glow around Steve’s outline, and it’s so beautiful that Bucky’s breath hitches in his chest.

“You okay?”

Steve’s voice is deep, rusty with sleep and his eyebrows are creased with that familiar worry-line; his hair is tousled into a mess, longer than Bucky’s really ever seen it before, falling into Steve’s eyes. It’s kind of disgusting how much Bucky loves him, honestly. Roughly, Bucky manages a, “Yeah,” with a nod and then curls closer to Steve, resting his head against Steve’s chest. 

He doesn’t actually go back to sleep, doesn’t think he can after that rude awakening, so Bucky just listens to Steve breathe, his heartbeat (mostly) steady beneath Bucky’s ear.

Slowly, one-by-one, the fellas all wake up, texting or reading the news or scrolling through Twitter feeds as the morning wears into the afternoon and stomachs start angrily growling. Steve’s is surprisingly loud, startling Bucky into dropping his phone on his face – at which Steve and Dum Dum, who’d apparently witnessed the fiasco, crack up.

“Assholes,” Buck says, rubbing at his nose, “the both of ya.”

Steve snorts, but shoves a finger into Bucky’s ribs, just asking for trouble considering that Bucky knows literally _all_ of his ticklish spots and can get him back when he least expects it. 

“I’m fuckin’ starving, y’all,” Dum Dum says, scratching at his belly as he stretches, “We should go to The Diner for pancakes.”

“Nah, son. _Waffles_.” Gabe sounds wistful – Bucky can’t see him from where he is on the floor, but he’d know that tone anywhere. “Hashbrowns, fried eggs… _grits_ , oh damn,” he says, sitting up like a shot, “Two minutes and then I’m leavin’ without y’all fuckers.”

There’s a mad scramble for shirts and sweaters and shoes, then they’re all piling out into Gabe’s SUV.

“God,” Bucky says, reaching across to the front seat to tug Gabe’s ear, “You lucky fuck. Ain’t gotta worry about this, huh? Mine’s always always lookin’ like a birds’ nest.” 

“Oh piss _off_ ,” Falsworth says, ruffling Bucky’s hair. “You always look like a bloody model. Windswept like you just stepped off a runway.”

“Out of a magazine,” Morita chips in.

“You don’t even have spots like the rest of us.”

Bucky snorts. “What _ever_. You fellas know I went through the whole acne shtick already. I served my time.” 

Steve, the traitor, just says, “They do have a point, Buck.” He hands Bucky the hair tie from his wrist – _and since when has he carried those around?_ – and offers up a smug grin.

A few more rounds of chirping and they finally make it to The Diner, quieting only when a veritable mountain of food has been delivered to their table. After chowing down, the ride back to Gabe’s is more sedate and then everyone disperses with half-assed goodbyes and promises to hangout sometime before New Year’s Eve so they can get a plan going for that. 

Then it’s just Steve and Bucky, sitting in Bucky’s car in the parking lot of Steve’s apartment complex – an echo of the first time they’d ever really met; instead, this time it’s softened by sunlight and snow. Bucky’s more than happy to move the driver’s seat as far back as it’ll allow, giving way to the easy slide of Steve into his lap. 

Steve’s eyes are bright, his fingers freezing as they skim over the planes of Bucky’s face before he leans in, whispers, “Hi,” and presses a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. Slow and soft and chaste and slick, Steve kisses Bucky as he holds him exactly where he wants him, and it’s nothing like the frantic pace of their very first kiss. Bucky will remember that fondly, _forever_ , but this – this right here – is exactly the way he feels when he thinks of Steve and what it’s like to be with him, a smooth descent from gentle words and touches into something that fills Bucky up from head to toe, makes his chest feel light and his head quiet.

It makes Bucky think, _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , in an insistent tandem with his heartbeat, vital and all-encompassing, as sure as Steve’s ribs expand with each inhale beneath Bucky’s hands. 

As gently as it started, so it ends, and Bucky’s content to just sit there for the rest of the day with Steve in his lap, forehead settled against Bucky’s shoulder, the gentle huffs of his breath against Bucky’s collarbone. It’s calming more than arousing, really, the way Steve pets over Bucky. Intimate.

“Do ya really have to go in today?” Bucky asks, rubbing over Steve’s back through his coat. It’s even the same one he’d been wearing the first time around.

“Told ‘em I would.” Steve climbs off of Bucky’s lap and back into the passenger seat, flipping open the visor to make it look a little less like they’d been making out.

Bucky sighs. He knows better than to ask Steve to go back on his word, but it doesn’t make it any easier for Bucky to be as selfless. Concerning Steve, Bucky’d be happy to just hide him away so no one else can take up his time but Bucky. Which, yeah, is incredibly unrealistic and insanely possessive.

“Alright,” Bucky says eventually, scratching at the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to mention his plans for Sunday, just in case the weather gets bad and he has to cancel, or something like that. He’d rather the date be a surprise. So, instead, Bucky hedges with, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be there on Saturday to start on the renovations.”

“They’ll be glad to hear that,” Steve says. He smirks, hand on the door handle, and then says, “Thanks for the ride.”

Bucky can’t help but giggle intermittently the whole drive home.

 

*

 

Becca bounces onto Bucky’s bed not even three minutes after he gets home, hair going everywhere as she lies back and holds her phone directly over her face. She should know better than to tempt Bucky with something so easy, so he leans forward and nudges her phone so it falls directly onto her face – “ _Ow_ ,” she shouts, rubbing at her nose and swatting at Bucky as he laughs, “ya fucker.”

After she settles, resuming the rapid-fire texting, Bucky asks, “What’s up, peanut?”

“Shh. Talkin’ to Gabe.”

There’s something about Becca’s expression that Bucky can’t quite pin down. She looks more…focused…than she usually does when she’s texting him. “…About what?” he asks. Generally, their texts are so inane that Bucky can only stand to read over Becca’s shoulder for a few minutes.

That’s not the case this time.

Becca shoves her phone at Bucky and says, “Whaddya think this means?”

All it is, is a series of emojis, Gabe’s standard alien emoji between the creepy-mustache guy and the chick with the brown hair that looks like she’s doing sign language. Bucky doesn’t really get it at first…but then he scrolls up and – if Gabe were anyone else…Bucky might call that flirting. Which is. Misleading, considering what Bucky knows about Gabe.

“Uhh,” Bucky says. 

Becca flops her hand over her forehead, lamenting with a deep sigh. “See! I ain’t gettin’ my hopes up or anything, but. What if I _should_ –”

“Bec…just. Wanna let me talk to him?”

“No! Jesus, what am I, twelve? Just.” Abruptly, Becca sits up, tossing her hair to the other side in that way that Bucky’s seen Nat do back when her hair was long. She’s huffing, starting and stopping multiple times before she apparently decides on, “Ugh, give me my phone back.”

She stands, paces for a few seconds and then looks expectantly at Bucky, and says, “You’re useless,” with her arms flopped out when he’s got nothing for her. “I’m gonna call Nat.”

Huffing a laugh, Bucky flops back on his bed and texts Gabe, trying to see what the hell’s going on in the first place. He doesn’t have to wait for more than three seconds before his phone’s ringing and Gabe’s sighing down the line at Bucky, saying, “Man, I don’t know. Is it weird that I want to date your sister?”

Baffled, Bucky repeats, “You wanna…date my sister.”

“Yes, bruh, that’s what I just said, but. I don’t know if she’ll – you know. Be okay with only…certain things instead of _all_ the things, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“Bucky, man…I’m –”

“No, Gabe – sorry, just.” Bucky sighs and gathers his thoughts. Yes, Gabe’s his best friend, but Becca’s his _little sister_. He isn’t even eighteen yet himself and she’s not even sixteen. “I ain’t sayin’ you’re a bad fella for her. But. She’s still a kid, man. And. I’m glad it’s you, honestly, because – and don’t go tellin’ her I said this, but – she’s had the biggest crush on you for as long as I can remember. It’d be…good for her. But. Maybe tell her about – _you?_ And let her grow up a little, please, for the love of _god_. She’s only fifteen.”

There’s silence from the opposite line, then a crackle of static like Gabe sighed. “Yeah. Jesus, this is. I’m sorry, man.”

“Pal, you really don’t need to apologize. I ain’t mad.”

“It’s gotta be weird, though. She’s your sister.”

Bucky laughs. “And you’re my best friend. Can’t think of a better fella for her.”

There’s maybe a two second pause before Becca slams back into Bucky’s room, trying to wrestle his phone away while hissing, “Jesus, Bucky, really?” and, while Bucky’s laughing, he hears Gabe thank him and then the line goes dead, courtesy of Becca’s elbow in Bucky’s gut. She’s spitting mad, furious that Bucky’d interfere in her love life and screaming at him at the top of her lungs – which just goes to show _exactly_ why Bucky thought it’d be better for Gabe to give it some time – but after she runs out of energy, she’s got tears streaming down her cheeks, even though her eyes are covered by her hands.

Bucky hugs his sister. “Bec, I swear, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I just wantcha to have a chance to – just talk to Gabe, alright? He’ll explain it.”

“I’m still mad at ya.” Becca’s voice is muffled against Bucky’s chest, but she sounds so pissy that it’s almost cute.

Laughing, Bucky presses a kiss to his sister’s hair and says, “I know.”

Once Becca leaves, Bucky’s a little bit at a loss of what to do. It’s – almost concerning how much his life has changed in just the matter of a few months, how much of an impact Steve has had on him. He doesn’t even remember what he used to do in his free time. But then he figures he might as well finish ironing out the plans for the date he’s taking Steve as well as St. Michael’s on Saturday. 

He gets online to check out the ice skating rinks in Central Park, because he’s only ever been to Wollman and that was years ago, so he looks at the prices of rink time and skate rental, and lock rental too just because he doesn’t want to chance getting their shoes stolen. Lasker looks to be cheaper than Wollman, and a little easier to get to from the train station. It’s a three hour ride, which could be either awesome or terrible depending on who they’re saddled with, but Bucky’s already bought the tickets for that so there’s no use worrying about that now.

Wikipedia is the devil, though, because after looking at the page on Lasker Rink, he gets stuck in a loop on looking at historical New York neighborhoods and restaurants to visit. 

By the time dinner rolls around, Bucky’s eyes are blurry from staring at the computer screen and he’s just about ready to fall asleep. But Becca knocks and yells through his door that dinner’s ready, so he trundles down to the kitchen and grins when he sees that his mom made chili. 

“Oh, my god, I love you, mom.”

Winnie snorts, ladling a generous portion into a bowl before passing it to him. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, “only ‘cause I feed you.”

Bucky presses a kiss to her cheek and eats kind of voraciously until his belly’s full and his family is looking at him like he grew a second head. But, whatever, he’s pretty sure he’s hitting another growth spurt and he keeps forgetting to eat multiple times throughout the day because that constant, gnawing hunger has been present for pretty much the last two years.

George says, “Oh, god, you’re growin’ again, ain’tcha?”

Sheepish, Bucky nods, and goes to refill his bowl. “Probably. Haven’t really thought about it, but I’ve been all achy for a while.”

Whistling under his breath, George says, “You’ll be taller’n me soon enough, kiddo. Why don’tcha slow down a bit, for your old man’s sake?”

His parents keep teasing him about eating them out of hearth and home, but Becca stays quiet and doesn’t make eye contact throughout the entire meal. Bucky’s kind of concerned, but he knows that whatever Gabe told her will have her coming into his room to talk about it soon enough.

Groaning and overstuffed, Bucky heads back to his room and lies back on his bed, regretting all of his life choices as he stares up at the ceiling. 

Steve calls at a quarter until ten, finally home from the shelter, and Bucky’s heart is pounding in his throat as he hears himself say, “So, are you free tomorrow?” His voice is actually airy, _flirty_ , instead of like, deep and suave.

“Oh, Mr. Barnes,” Steve drawls in response, “why do you ask?”

Bucky laughs. “Well, Mr. Rogers,” he replies in kind, “I might have a little somethin’ planned.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Humming an affirmative, Bucky flips over and grabs his laptop, double checking the times on the train tickets. “Think ya can be ready by, say, nine in the mornin’?”

“I suppose I could swing that. Anything special I need to, uh…be prepared for?”

Again, Bucky hums. “Cold weather with a chance of relatively short-lived boredom.”

“Extra scarf and sketchpad,” Steve says, laughing a little bit. It’s full of warmth and delight and Bucky could listen to it forever. “Got it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says. “Don’t forget your gloves, neither.” 

 

*

 

Friday morning, after Bucky wakes up to a flying-elbow doled out by his sister, he blearily makes his way downstairs and makes himself a steaming cup of coffee. His hair’s a mess, longer than it’s ever been, and he’s feeling frumpy and anxious and hopeful all at once. It takes him a while to decide on what to wear and by the time he’s ready to get out the door, he doesn’t have a whole lot of time to mess around before going to pick up Steve. 

And Steve – he looks sleep-rumpled but bright-eyed, grinning that familiar tiny smile before he leans up and kisses Bucky’s cheek in greeting. “Morning,” Steve rumbles, “Why so early?”

“We,” Bucky says, leaning in to dole out another kiss, this time to Steve’s mouth. He gets distracted, chasing the taste of cinnamon or…maybe apple off of Steve’s lips, and by the time he’s satisfied, Steve’s looking almost as dazed as Bucky feels. He hums out an indulgent sound and then leans in for another quick (relatively speaking) peck. 

“…Bucky,” Steve says, tone a low warning.

“Hmm?”

“Where are we going?”

Bucky, remembering suddenly that they’re on a timetable, curses under his breath and then drags Steve toward his car. “We’re gonna be late, babe – oh,” he says, wheeling around to face Steve, “Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Yes…it’s in my pocket – _Bucky_.” Steve is nearly whining, sounding less amused and more petulant. “Where are we going? Why do I need my inhaler?”

“First,” Bucky says, grinning even as he tugs Steve toward his car again, “we’ve got a train to catch. Probably won’t be hard for you to figure it out from there.”

Even though Steve gives a grumpy grunt and frowns, he’s still got this delighted look in his eye, like he’s up for whatever Bucky’s dragging him around to, simply because it’s Bucky. It’s a heady feeling.

They make idle chitchat as Bucky drives down to the Amtrack station, texting his parents once they’ve gotten into line to board. Steve’s standing there with his arms crossed, frowning into the distance while Bucky tries not to bounce with excitement, thrilled at the prospect of spending the entire day, uninterrupted, with Steve. No worries, no stress, nobody they know nearby so that it makes it feel like they’re the only two people in the world – Bucky’s never been happier to have a first date.

He bumps his hip against Steve’s side and then tucks his own gloved hands into his pockets. “So, uh,” he says, going for coy, “Wanna hold hands?”

Steve barks a laugh, loud enough to make some of the other passengers look their way. He’s grinning up at Bucky, the sunlight catching his eyes and glancing off of his teeth, surrounding him like a holy aura, or something. Bucky sighs happily, but keeps affecting the shyness. It’s an echo of what he’d felt all throughout the beginning of the school year, something he’d wanted to ask Steve before they’d ever said two words to each other. Bucky must be transparently displaying his feelings, because Steve just beams right back at him and then reaches out for Bucky’s hand.

“Thanks, babydoll,” Bucky whispers as he grabs ahold. 

“So,” Steve says, clearing his throat. His cheeks have darkened up a bit, and he looks down, eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheekbones in the late morning light. “Central Park, huh?”

“You got it,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hand. He can’t feel the heat of it through their gloves, but it doesn’t stop him from imagining he can feel it. “Now, we don’t _have_ to do anything I’ve got planned, but I thought it’d be real nice to take ya ice skatin’. Whaddya think?”

A smirk sneaks up onto Steve’s mouth. “Think I’ll show you how it’s done, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Shaky legs and shitty lungs. We’re gonna race and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Them’s fightin’ words,” Bucky teases, “You wanna make that a bet, Rogers?”

“You’re on.”

The train approaches, brakes squealing as it eases into the station. The doors open with a hydraulic hiss, passengers pouring out, some stumbling blearily into the sunlight while others beeline toward the exit, clearly ready to get on with their days. It’s interesting to watch, to think of how each of these individuals have their own thing going on in their heads, their own worries, their own ambitions. Bucky and Steve are only secondary, background characters in the grand scheme of these peoples’ lives in the same way that they are in Bucky’s and Steve’s. It’s weird, almost astonishing to realize.

Bucky and Steve stay connected via their clasped hands, trailing single-file down the aisle toward the very last row of seats on the right-hand side, where Bucky booked their seats. “Here we are,” he says with an exaggerated flourish. Once they’ve gotten seated and stowed their respective backpacks, Bucky takes Steve’s hand again, peeling his glove off, finger-by-finger.

He stows the glove in his pocket. 

“So about that bet…”

Steve says, “Uh huh,” cheek dimpling with the effort of not smiling.

“What do I get if I win?” Bucky asks, stroking his thumb over Steve’s index finger, a callus catching on the wrinkled ridges. 

“Hmm.” Steve flips his hand, snagging Bucky’s ungloved hand with his own. His voice drops as he leans in to ask, “How serious of a bet do you want to make this?”

Bucky shivers. “Uh…”

“Because I could say,” Steve starts, trailing a finger down the center of Bucky’s palm. It makes him shiver again; he had no idea his hands were so sensitive. Steve clears his throat and then leans closer, breath ghosting over the shell of Bucky’s ear. “Winner gets to pick who tops.”

Again, Bucky shivers, but this time it’s so hard that he feels like he’s going to shake right out of his skin. He, kind of belatedly, realizes that he’s breathing a little louder and he’s definitely starting to get hard. They haven’t even left the station yet and Steve’s already _killing him_.

Bucky damn near chokes on his tongue, coughs to clear his throat, tries to shift subtly enough to not call attention to the fact that his zipper is making him kind of uncomfortable.

“Just think on it,” Steve says. Then he turns to stare out the window, and Bucky can’t really talk to him (without rudely getting his attention) until he decides to face him again.

And Bucky does. Think on it, that is. 

He thinks about skate blades carving into the ice, flushed cheeks and sweaty hair, heaving chests and searing smiles. It takes pretty much all of his willpower to keep from getting completely hard, because there’s a bathroom behind them, but Bucky doesn’t want to have to resort to that. He wants…whatever he can get, and he wants it with Steve. Jacking off has kind of lost its appeal ever since they got together and Bucky getting picky about his orgasms means that he’ll stave them off until Steve says so because that’s how and when he wants them. 

Because Steve’s still not looking at him, Bucky’s limited on his options. He takes his phone out of his pocket and types, one handed: _loser doesn’t get to come ‘til the other says._

Biting at his lip, Bucky keeps fiddling with his phone, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram even as he sees Steve startle at his pocket vibrating, take out his phone, read the message and gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees the wet flick of Steve’s tongue as he licks his lower lip. Bucky swallows.

The train finally lurches to a start and in the window’s reflection, Bucky can see Steve’s smirk.

 

*

 

“First kiss?” Bucky asks.

Steve groans, letting his head fall forward into his hands, his hair spilling over his bony knuckles. “No, Bucky, c’mon.”

“ _What_ , it can’t be that bad – like, I know it ain’t me.” Bucky can’t help but grin, imagining maybe getting to share that together. Grumbling his answer into his hands, the tips of Steve’s ears go pink and he struggles against Bucky trying to pull his face free by his thin wrists. “C’mon, Rogers, don’t be chicken. Just tell me.”

Laughing, Steve gets loose from Bucky’s grip and shoves at him before going back to doing up his skates. He eventually says, “It was Peggy, okay?”

Bucky’s delighted more than anything. “Mine was Natasha! Weird. Kinda funny, though – they’re together, _we’re_ together…” He gets the distinct feeling that Steve’s rolling his eyes at him. “Anyway, at least it wasn’t Howard for neither of us.”

Laces finally done up just so, Steve stands and offers out his hand to Bucky, saying, “Well, what are you waiting for? We’ve got a bet to settle.”

The ice rink isn’t as full as Bucky’d anticipated, but there’s still a pretty solid handful of people – New Yorkers and tourists alike. It looks like one little girl is getting skating lessons and another little boy, probably not any older than three, is being led around by his father, yelling and laughing while his father grins and speaks to him in French. A group of teenagers, probably on winter break just like Steve and Bucky, are slowly making their way around the rink, stopping to shove into each other and laugh, or to make out with each other in couples. 

Between the buildings and the sparse trees, the wind bites at Bucky’s cheeks and leaves Steve looking flushed and misty-eyed. It’s nearly one in the afternoon, but Steve and Bucky easily find a gap to take to the ice, hand-in-hand. Steve’s a little wobbly at first, and Bucky’s not any better. It’s definitely been a few years since he’s been on the ice, which is funny to think about, considering how he’d wanted to be an NHL player when he was really little. He probably still has all of his old Sabres gear tucked away somewhere in his closet.

Lost in his thoughts, Bucky’s right blade catches on an uneven patch of ice and he nearly drags Steve down with him. Instead, they steady each other, shouting and laughing and trying to keep from knocking into other skaters. 

“Oh, my god,” Steve says, “I didn’t think it was possible. You’re worse than me.” 

“Trash talk, Rogers.”

Steve laughs, a delighted peal that echoes around Bucky’s heart. “But it’s true!”

Bucky says, “Yeah, yeah. Two more warm-up laps an’ then it’s go time.”

“Still think you can beat me?” Steve asks, grinning widely at Bucky’s dubious face. “Oh, yeah. You’re going down.”

Together, Bucky and Steve take their warmup laps relatively slowly, getting caught in congestion in the form of a little girl falling onto her face while trying to do some figure skating move that’s probably a little too advanced for how tiny she is, and then her big brother helping her up. He apologizes to them in a thick accent, sorry for holding them up as far as Bucky can tell, and Steve’s smiling like the sunshine as he tells the kid it’s no problem, asks if they need any help. 

Bucky’s heart is in his throat.

By the time they make it back around toward the entrance, Bucky’s eyeing Steve through his peripherals watching for any twitch that says he’s going to take off and leave Bucky in a trail of snow from his skates. Only, when it actually happens, Bucky has no warning. They drop hands at the same exact time and then Steve’s digging in and _gone_ before Bucky could even position his feet properly to take off. 

Laughing, shouting, “Cheater!” Bucky follows, gaining on Steve who’s laughing and weaving through skaters like he was born to do it. And that’s when Bucky figures out he’d been duped. Bucky pretty much wipes out once he finishes the lap, knocking into Steve to send them both sprawling onto the ice, panting and laughing.

At least, until Steve’s panting turns into thick wheezing. 

Bucky reaches into Steve’s jacket pocket, freeing his inhaler and nudging it into Steve’s hand. “Here, babydoll,” Bucky says, trying to keep his voice even and calm even though his heart’s still pounding just as hard as if he were still skating full speed. “Sit up, c’mon. There ya go.”

Steve takes a puff, and then another, and then another, still breathing in thick, heavy breaths that don’t seem to be helping. Bucky can feel the eyes of too many people on them, but he pays them no mind, letting his skin crawl while he’s trying to get Steve back to breathing normally. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Bucky says, half to Steve and half to himself. His hands shake. “The medicine takes a minute, yeah? The cold probably ain’t helpin’ but you’ll be alright. Soon as you’re ready we’ll go find a nice place to warm up an’ maybe get somethin’ to eat. Heard your stomach growlin’ on that second warmup lap; thought you were gonna keel over.”

As Bucky keeps babbling, Steve watches his mouth move and takes breaths that sound a little bit more even, looking less like he’s going to pass out or go into shock. 

Just as Bucky’s about to start back up with the chatter, a woman approaches slowly with a concerned look, hand raised like she’s approaching a spooked animal. “Hi, I’m a doctor,” the woman says with a bit of a twang, “Would y’all like any help?”

Steve’s still gasping a little bit, but doesn’t seem to be struggling like he had been a little bit earlier and Bucky defers to him, glad when Steve shakes his head. 

“Uh, no thanks, ma’am,” Bucky answers for them, “’Preciate the offer.”

“Alright,” she says,. “If y’all decide ya need any help, I’ll be right over there.”

Before she walks away, Bucky nods and then goes back to keeping an ear out for Steve’s breathing. “Sounds a little better,” he comments. 

“I’m good,” Steve pants out before taking one last puff of the medicine. He coughs a couple of times and clears his throat; Bucky notices that Steve’s lips are tinged blue.

“Are you sure?”

And Bucky’s actually still a little fucked up over this, so he’s definitely a little confused whenever Steve just starts laughing again and then says, “I won,” with only a thread of reediness. He takes one last dose of albuterol and then tucks his inhaler away into his jacket pocket. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, hands shaking, “’cause you _cheated_.” He doesn’t run his hands over Steve’s face the way he wants, but Steve must sense some of Bucky’s desperation because he grabs his gloved hand and lifts it to his mouth, doling out a kiss to his covered knuckles.

Steve’s lips are still a little blue, his teeth chattering as he accepts the hand that Bucky offers. It takes a little bit of jostling because they’re on skates, but eventually Bucky leads Steve over to a bench, goes to grab their shoes from the locker to Steve’s grumbling protest that he can do it himself, and then takes a seat next to Steve.

“You gettin’ hungry?” Bucky asks, bending to tie his laces. “I finally got that OpenTable app that Dum Dum was talkin’ about.”

“Sounds good,” Steve answers.

OpenTable suggests a place called Lady M Cake Boutique and, even though Bucky’ll have to transfer funds over from his savings so he’ll be able to finish getting Christmas presents, the expense is absolutely worth it. It’s warm and cozy, both from the ovens and the décor. Plus, Bucky has never seen Steve enjoy eating so much – and seeing him enjoy the shit out of some chocolate cake from a place that looks like it could pay for some kid’s college tuition with the goods it has just up front, well. It’s kind of surreal. For himself, Bucky orders a slice of the weird looking flat cake made of crepes and –

“Jesus tapdancin’ _Christ_ , that’s good,” Bucky says, eyes wide as he looks up at Steve. “Stevie, c’mon, you gotta try this.”

Steve just slides Bucky’s plate around his own, offering up his chocolate raspberry as payment. 

By the time they’ve made it out of there, Bucky’s got a whole crepe cake thing in a box tucked under his arm, other hand secured in Steve’s grip. He’s thinking about just sharing it with Steve on the train ride home, but he’d already texted his mom ( _and_ Becca, because he’s an idiot) to talk about this insanely delicious dessert and, well, Bucky’d rather not risk his neck. The women in his family are serious about their sweets.

“So, what other first date questions do you have for me?” Steve asks, mouth puckered in a wry little grin.

They take their time walking back to the train station, bellies full and hearts fuller. Bucky’s still feeling a little shaky from Steve’s asthma attack, but when each time he looks Steve over or squeezes his hand, Steve squeezes back or shoots him a smile as if to say, “Don’tcha worry, Buck.” Even walking this slowly, Bucky’s still a little worried about Steve. He just – he wants to wrap himself around him, keep him safe from the cold and the wind and anything that might agitate his lungs.

Bucky distracts himself by asking questions, like top three favorite movies of all time, or what Steve would do in the event of a zombie apocalypse. His answers aren’t really anything Bucky’s expecting – he’s never seen Firefly or Serenity, and he wouldn’t have thought about finding a deserted island himself. Steve’s full of surprises, has been since day one.

By the time they pull back into the station, Bucky and Steve have been giggling helplessly, snuggled up against each other.

“This was a lot of fun,” Steve says, wobbling a bit as he stands, turning to look up at Bucky. “Well. Aside from the asthma attack; definitely could’ve gone without that. But, we should – we should go on dates more often.”

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand and then herds him down the line, staying close enough to reach out and steady him if need be, but not so close as to be stepping on the heels of his boots. When they get in his car, Bucky cranks the heat as high as he can stand it for Steve’s sake. They’re both quiet during the drive, reflective, and by the time Bucky parks at Steve’s complex, he’s crossing the border from tired to sleepy. 

“You look about ready to pass out,” Steve says quietly, tugging at an end of Bucky’s hair.

He’s probably not expecting Bucky to hum and press into the motion, but that’s okay. Steve takes it in stride. He gives another tug and then gently pulls the hair tie out, running his fingers through it and working out the crease from being in a bun all day. “You keep doin’ that an’ I’ll go down for you right now,” Bucky half-slurs, “Not exactly first date etiquette.”

Steve laughs, soft and delicate, but he does stop playing with Bucky’s hair. “That mean you’re gonna walk me to my door?”

Nodding, Bucky smiles softly and says, “Might even give you a kiss before I let you go.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Steve muses.

They hold hands; Bucky feels warm and safe and happy, glad that Steve’s here and his. Outside of Steve’s door, they smile at each other and then look away, uncharacteristically bashful, like this really is their first date. So Bucky cups Steve’s face and leans in to kiss him like it’s their first kiss, just to seal the deal. It’s nothing like their _real_ first date, their _real_ first kiss, but maybe more like something they’d have together in some universe where they weren’t exactly the way they are now. 

Bucky doesn’t mind this soft hesitance, not at all, but he’s pretty damn happy with the way things actually are.

He pulls back, brushes his nose against Steve’s, and says, “Night, babydoll.”

Steve grins, slow and secret. “Goodnight, Buck. Text me when you get home.”

Walking backwards toward the elevator, Bucky tosses him a salute and says, “Will do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see how many high school clichés I can fit into one fic. Come cry with me about Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoon.tumblr.com)!


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